Page 69 of Quietly Falling
“Where’s your stuff?” I ask, finally finding my words. “I mean, aside from the fridge, there’s nothing here that looks like it could be yours.”
The house is clean and rustic and while it’s hitting the right vibe, I don’t think if he moved out there’d be much of a change to the space.
Except for the fridge.
The stainless steel appliance is covered in pictures of Beck and Holland, the dogs, a couple of him and Mason, and some of the other guys in Blackstone Falls. There’s a couple of drawings, a sports schedule, and a handful of other things that are wildly out of place in the otherwise pristine room.
Bracing his hands on the island, he sighs. “I don’t have a lot and at this point it’s habit over anything else. Rooms are functional and I don’tneedpaint and knickknacks to make me feelhomebecause up until recently, I didn’t even know what that was.”
“It’s not a criticism,” I tell him, resting my elbows on the granite as I lean forward. “I just havestuffand I’m worried you’ll take one look at my apartment and run for the hills.”
“I don’t care that you have stuff.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you should see the amount ofstuffbefore you commit to that sentiment.”
His grin is slow and sexy as it slides across his lips. It’s the kind of thing that sends a flash of heat coursing through my veins, dampening my panties, and has me wishing we’ll make better use of this counter.
“I moved here with Mason. Montana’s family owns this house and rented it to us when we moved here.”
“And then just you.”
“Yeah.” He looks around before focusing back on me. “I think that I’d like to find us a place when we’re ready for that.”
A swarm of butterflies takes flight in my stomach and it takes everything in me to respond in an even tone when all I want to do is cartwheel across the floor.
“And what’s that place look like?”
“Something big enough for us and the dogs and for the kids. Beck and Holland have rooms here and I’d like to be able to keep that space for them somewhere else.” Winking, he adds, “And plenty of room for your stuff.”
“No preferences about the kitchen? Or a reading nook?”
“Reading nook?”
“Isn’t this yours?” I hold up the paperback by Sloane Daniels, the first book in her newest romantic suspense trilogy that was released the end of last year.
His eyes lock on the book in my hand before slowly moving up to meet my gaze. “Kind of.”
“How is itkind ofyours?”
“Sorren loaned it to me.”
“And?” I ask, more interested in what he thinks rather than the fact that it’s my boss’s husband’s copy—especially considering I’ve talked books with Sorren a time or two andalwayswhen it’s Sloane Daniels.
“It’s fine. I’m not far as you can tell.”
“Ugh,” I huff, setting it back down on the table and sliding onto the barstool. “I read it the same day it came out and absolutelydevouredthe second book. Only a few weeks until the last one is live! There’s a release party in Nashville at one of the bookstores I was thinking about going to.”
“Is she going to be there?”
“No, no one knows who she is,” I tell him before leaning forward. “Want to know a secret?”
“Sure.” His lips twitch as he stares at me, and I don’t miss the way his eyes dip to where I’ve pushed my breasts together.
“Ahem,” I tease but he takes his sweet time meeting my gaze, his eyes like a physical caress that I feel absolutely everywhere.
“You were saying?”
“You were staring.”
