Page 54 of One Moment Please
Confusion hits me as I ponder her surprising reply. Most women in her situation would want a relationship or a commitment. Maybe even marriage so they can get that picture-perfect family they always dreamed about as little girls. But not Lynsey. She wants boundaries and rules, and who knows what the hell else she’ll come up with.
I exhale heavily and let this idea really sink in. Honestly, this is probably the best-case scenario for me. With my past, I’m only able to give a limited amount of myself to someone. Far from one hundred percent. This no-sex rule will save me from breaking her heart eventually.
And at least she’ll be here under my roof where I can watch out for her and take care of her and make sure that the baby is taken care of as well. This may not have been a situation I would have asked for, but now that it’s here, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure this baby and this woman are good.
I relax my shoulders and take her hand, giving it a platonic shake. “Okay. Strictly roommates.”
The next day, my jaw drops when I pull up to my parking spot and I’m blocked by a giant storage pod sitting in the driveway. Lynsey must have seen me coming because she’s standing on the front lawn, her eyes wide and wary on me as I climb out of my vehicle.
“I didn’t know you moving in was going to involve a storage POD.” I stare at the monstrous thing in front of me.
“You’re home early,” she says, playing with the strings on her hooded sweatshirt.
“What is going on?” I ask, seriously annoyed with what’s happening. “You haven’t been doing heavy lifting, have you?”
“No, she hasn’t,” Dean says casually as he comes around the POD to stand by Lynsey.
My jaw clenches at the sight of him standing next to her, wiping sweat off his face with his T-shirt. He adjusts his glasses and shoots me an infuriating smile.
“So, what? Dean here has just magically moved everything on his own and you didn’t lift a finger?” I ask, narrowing accusing eyes at Dean.
“Miles and Sam are here,” Lynsey replies, biting her lip. “They’re mounting a TV in the living room.”
“They’re what?” My jaw drops as I head inside to see the damage.
“You said she could move in,” Dean snaps, stepping into my path and crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you think she was just going to sit on that ridiculous plastic chair throughout her whole pregnancy?”
“No,” I growl defensively, my body tensing from his proximity. “I told Lynsey I was going to buy shit. I even said she could pick it out.”
“I didn’t want you to do that,” Lynsey interjects, standing between me and Dean as we glower at each other. “There was no need for you to buy anything when I have a pod full of perfectly good home furnishings.”
Dean scoffs and shakes his head. “What kind of freak doesn’t have any furniture?”
“The kind with a grown-up job,” I quip back.
He narrows his eyes and smiles. “And what I do isn’t grown-up?”
“I still don’t know what the hell you actually do.”
“Ask your buddy Max. I’ve made him a lot of money.”
I roll my eyes and turn my attention to Lynsey, taking a deep breath to calm the nerves that Dean riles in me. “If you wanted to move your stuff in here, you should have told me. I would have helped.”
She stares at me, fiddling with her hair. “I was hoping I could get settled before I start my new job on Monday. I like things…in order. And you were working today so I didn’t want to bother you.”
“This wouldn’t have been a bother.” I shake my head and purse my lips in disappointment because after everything we discussed last night, she still doesn’t get it.
She smiles sheepishly. “Well, we’re almost done so why don’t you come in and have a look? It’ll be a fun surprise.” She gestures for me to follow her, and I begrudgingly end up in Dean’s wake.
The guy gets on my fucking nerves.
When I walk inside, the scent of something baking hits my nose. As I take in the changes, I barely recognize my place anymore. Not only because it’s full of shit I’ve never seen, but because its energy has completely shifted from cold and sterile to warm and welcoming.
We enter the kitchen first and the counter is covered with cooking gadgets. Most of which I’ve never seen in my life. The only gadget I require is a coffeemaker, but now some sort of French press and electric whisk thing sits next to my Keurig. A red KitchenAid mixer sits nearby, and a spinner full of utensils, and floral-printed hand towels hanging off all the stainless-steel appliances.
I move through the kitchen, passing an old wooden dining table and chairs set up in the front room where Miles and Sam are adjusting a flat screen on the stone wall above the fireplace. They both turn and say hello but my attention is distracted by the orange floral eyesore sitting right in front of the TV.
“It was my grandma’s,” Lynsey says, rushing over to stand beside it. “I know it’s kind of ugly, but it’s also kind of amazing, right? Retro and shabby chic. And it’s crazy comfortable.”
