AllFreeNovel
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If I cross the threshold, there is no going back. Something new begins here.
New does not equal good. And the friendship I share with Abel now—that’sgood. He’s a constant in my life. A stable, supportive presence. If I somehow manage to fuck that up...
I swallow. The front door is already open. Tai and Cher are already inside, and so are my hair dryer and laptop.
Dad would be confused to see this. But then he’d smile. Hell, seeing the lost kid he helped raise into a successful, if slightly bruised, stand-up man pair off with his daughter might even make Joe Monroe cry. Happy tears this time.
I can’t go back.
So I step inside Abel’s home and breathe in the new house smell, lumber and fresh paint, that mingles with the more sinister notes of Abel’s scent. Leather, a hint of tobacco.
The first thing I notice is the art. There’s an enormous canvas on the wall to my left. It’s a contemporary piece, greatsplashes of grey, black, and white that are beautifully intermingled.
“Wow.” I’m gaping and I don’t care. “Is that a Howie Paige?”
Abel glances over his shoulder and nods. “Good eye. I’ve got a couple more upstairs in the bedroom too.”
GoodGodthis man’s got taste. And money. Lots of it. Howie Paige pieces go for tens of thousands of dollars. He’s an artist out of Charleston who’s hit it big with his Jackson-Pollock-esque style.
“Abel, when did you get fancy?”
My suitcases are at the bottom of a staircase. Abel sets my tote bag on top of one. He holds up his hand, palm out. The calluses there are so thick they’re visible from here. “Not fancy. I just like beautiful things.” His eyes catch on mine.
Are we still talking about art? If we are, why do I feel thatlookinside my skin and between my legs?
Bringing my vibrator was definitely the right call.
“C’mon.” He tilts his head. “I’ll show you around.”
I’m gripped by that foreboding again as Abel gives me a tour of his incredible home. It’s moody, lots of dark paint and sexy finishes, like the antique mirrored backsplash in the bar that takes up one wall of the living room. The space has high ceilings, and it’s dominated by a pair of beautifully aged leather sofas.
“Vintage?” I run my hand over the buttery material.
Abel nods. “Found ’em in Charleston when I was down there picking up the Howie Paige piece.”
And of course, Tai and Cher take that moment to make themselves right at home and jump onto the sofa.
“Girls!” I swat them away. “Off the furniture! I’m sorry, Abel?—”
But he’s already walking around the sofa and picking up both girls to set them back on the cushions. “They’re fine.”
“But their nails?—”
“Add character to the leather.”
I blink. Ignore the way everything inside me swells at Abel’s warmth. Heisa good host. Too good. How am I only now realizing what a huge freaking problem that might be?
Too late now.
“You sure?” I ask. “I can put them in their crate.”
“Not necessary. Y’all make yourselves at home.”
He shows me the kitchen, a magazine-worthy expanse of black soapstone and dark green cabinets. Huge stainless-steel appliances. There’s an equally stylish scullery, complete with extra sink and wine fridge. Except it’s not for wine. Peering through the glass door, I see it’s filled with cigars.
“A built-in humidor?” I laugh. “How cool.”
“I don’t smoke all that much anymore, but I like having ’em around just in case.” Abel leans a shoulder against the door jamb and crosses his arms. “Don’t worry, I got wine too. Rosé is in the kitchen fridge.”
