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The hard lines around his mouth finally give way to humor, and his cheeks split into a mischievous grin. “There’s absolutely no contest when it comes to this book. Your book.” He strokes my manuscript like it’s his guitar, which is his prized possession. “It’s witty. Sexy. Emotional. It’s a fucking masterpiece, and there’s no doubt in my mind every single person who reads this will be a lucky motherfucker, baby.”
He plants a wet, heated kiss onto my mouth. I wasn’t ready for it or his words of such strong praise.
In truth, I wasn’t prepared for his sudden arrival into my life, but I’m glad he smashed his apartment to pieces and needed a place to stay all those weeks ago. More than that—I’m glad Tarrah fibbed about the timeframe of the renovation Elijah’s place needed. His new home is still under construction over two months later, but I’m not complaining. I’ve enjoyed living with him, and I have my friend to thank.
Tarrah’s a complicated woman, but she always knows best, even if she doesn’t always know she knows best.
When Elijah pulls back, his dark eyes shine with pride, and it sends blooming hope through my chest.
My heart is full.
“Thank you,” I whisper, a well of tears stinging my eyes.
It’s been a difficult process. I found and hired an editor, a godsend with a keen eye for missed opportunities in the story and character arcs. I spent countless, painstaking hours making necessary revisions, and once it was all said and done, I let Elijah read it.
He not only enjoyed it, but he’s also proud of it, which makes me happier than I was when I wrote “The End” for the first time.
I stand and jump into his arms right as his phone rings. We’re too busy making out harder than teenagers for him to answer, but when it rings a third time, we can’t ignore it.
“Yes?” he clips, angling the speaker to his glistening lips.
“E! Finally!” His manager’s unmistakable voice booms through the speaker like he’s talking through a megaphone.
“I just talked to you this morning, Gordon. What’s up?” Elijah rolls his eyes, then nods for me to follow him into the kitchen.
“You’ll be happy to know your apartment is finished and ready for you to move in. You can finally get out of that dump in SoHo.”
I choke on my own spit as he turns his murderous glare toward the phone. “That dump is better to me than any fucking penthouse.”
As his manager scrambles to make light of his obvious offense, Elijah grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and stabs a knife through the middle.
“So, when should I send a car? You don’t need anyone to pack you up, right? Did you heed my advice to take only one bag to your temporary residence?”
“It’s not temporary, Gordon. I’m living with Pia permanently.”
My breath hitches, and I freeze with my own apple slice halfway to my mouth.
Elijah flashes his searing gaze toward me, but there’s no question or hesitation in it or his statement.
It’s a declaration, just as any other fact would be, and it makes my stomach flip with excitement.
“You can’t be serious. That place isn’t even big enough for a line of ants, let alone two people. E, think—”
“She can come live with me, but either way, we’ll be living together. I have to go,” he rushes out and taps his phone to end the call.
He drops the knife onto the counter with a clink and cups both my cheeks in his wolfish palms. “What do you think?”
“About living together more permanently?”
He shakes his head. “That’s already decided. I meant, what do you think about moving in with me?”
My grin spreads widely.
If I was anyone else or this was any other guy, I’d say it’s too soon to move in together. I’d say we haven’t been together long enough to take such a big step—and risk.
But nothing has been normal or predictable with Elijah.
Our whole relationship has been unexpected… in the best way.
