7.Beckett
Shawn’s house is not at all what I expected.
Not that I spent much time thinking about it, but I certainly wouldn’t have pictured a warm, welcoming space with actual decorations, including throw pillows on the bed in his spare bedroom.
I would have honestly been surprised if he lived in anything but a studio apartment with workout equipment in the corner and a television as the only means of entertainment. Instead, I’m dumbfounded as I stand in a perfectly decorated spare bedroom, complete with black and white photographs of a serene lake on the walls and a quilt that looks handmade stretched out over the bed.
The place evensmellsamazing. A hearty aroma that makes my stomach growl.
Then there’s the fact that he’s been nothing but kind to me since he found me in that hotel room.
A completely different man from the one I’d come to expect.
After leaving the spare bedroom, I step out into a short hallway lined with more framed landscape photographs and make my way into the living room.
One wall is a massive bookcase full of books ranging from non-fiction to thrillers and even a handful of Bible study books. His leather couch has a crocheted throw blanket over the back and a decorative cross-stitched pillow.
The kitchen overlooks the living room and is complete with impressive stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops.
“Here.” He crosses over toward me and offers me a towel and washcloth.
“I noticed you don’t have a Christmas tree up. Do you not decorate?”
“I do, just haven’t had time this year. Last weekend, I helped decorate my mom’s house, though, so mine is next.”
He decorated his mom’s house for Christmas? Unexpected warmth surges through me.Get it together, Beckett.
“I get that. I haven’t had time to decorate my place, either.” Clearing my throat, I study his living room again. “So, are you the only one who lives here?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I just—it’s not what I would have expected.”
He arches a brow. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Guns on the walls, workout equipment, dead plants, a bean bag chair.”
He laughs.
Actuallylaughs.Who is this guy? The vast change in him from earlier to now is enough to make my head spin, even if it wasn’t already pounding from earlier.
Then, he gestures toward the large monstera plant in the corner. It’s honestly bigger than mine, some of its green leaves larger than dinner plates. “Definitely not dead. And I haven’t owned a bean bag chair since college.”
If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it.
I continue staring at him.
“Why am I here?” I blurt the words out, unsure how else to put it. Why didn’t he dump me at another hotel? Why bring me back here to his personal space?
“Because I wasn’t going to let you be alone, and I have no interest in sleeping on a crummy hotel couch when I have a perfectly comfortable spare bedroom you can use.”
“But why? Why are you being so nice to me?”
“I need a reason?” he asks.
“It’s throwing me off.”
“Me being nice?”
