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“No!”
“No, I didn’t forget,” I said, grinning and pulling out my phone. I held it in front of us and we scrolled through the photos, my blood pumping with nervous anticipation.
“Arched windows,” she said in an approving tone. “That hardwood looks original.”
I scrolled to a shot of an old stone fireplace with a carved wooden mantel. It was flanked by built-in bookshelves in the same dark, rich wood.
Sid seemed to be holding her breath.
“We could always paint it,” I said. “Or replace it. Or even look at a newer place. But I just love the character of this whole apartment. And it’s huge.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “Absolutely perfect in every way. Original woodwork. And did I see a clawfoot bathtub in one of those pictures?”
“Yep. Big enough for two.”
She turned so we were face to face. “I never told you how much I love old buildings. Yet you managed to find us an apartment more perfect than I could have ever imagined.”
“Damn, it’s good to hear you say that,” I said, breathing out a sigh of relief. “I love it, and I was hoping you would, too.”
“I’ve got movers coming in two weeks. We’ll keep the Fenway place so we have somewhere to sleep when we come here, and I’m keeping the New York place for the same reason. But all my furniture and personal stuff will go to our Indy place.”
“Good. All I’ve got is a chair, a coffee table and a bed.”
“What about the couch?”
“Gave it to Bennett. Now that he’s team captain, he gets the single-bedroom apartment. He’ll need something to sit his sorry ass on.”
Her face dropped with disappointment.
“You liked that threadbare piece of junk?” I asked, surprised.
“It was comfortable.”
“We’ll buy a new one that’ll give you better back support,” I said, arching my brows suggestively.
I still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to move to Indy. I’d asked out of sheer desperation when we hadn’t seen each other in eight days because of our schedules. She’d only had to think about it for a few seconds before deciding to hand off most of the work at Firestorm to her people in New York. She’d still have to go to New York for meetings at her real estate business, and she’d need to make the occasional trip from Indy to Fenway. But she’d assured me a million times that all of this was no problem and that I was more important than anything else. I could have cried. The last person who’d said that to me was my mom.
We’d be together most nights I wasn’t on the road. We’d share a closet. I’d have a reason to pull two coffee mugs out of the kitchen cabinet for our morning coffee.
I’d never even considered living with a woman before Sidney. But she wasn’t like most women. She’d changed my life for the better in a matter of months.
The topless photo of her had made its rounds on the Internet. She’d put a video message about it on YouTube, all business in a suit sitting behind her desk. Her heartfelt, direct message about refusing to be blackmailed, and the objectification of women, had gotten national media attention and support from women’s groups. She’d turned the situation into a win by donating $500,000—the amount the blackmailer had sought—to a domestic violence organization.
Her tenacity was one of Sid’s many characteristics that made me love her. Life would bring unexpected challenges, and sometimes I’d be the one holding her up. Other times, I knew she was more than capable of holding me up. Mostly, I hoped we’d hold each other up through the good and the bad.
She let out a squeal of excitement as the puck dropped and I wrapped my arms around her waist again, pulling her back against my chest. There’d be no dull moments with this woman by my side.
“You ready for this, boss?” I asked, looking out over my former team with pride.
“Always, Captain. Always.”
