“You’re planning on staying then. In LA, I mean.” The thought makes my stomach spin. I pivot so I can see him in my peripheral vision.
He leans against the doorjamb, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been living out of a suitcase for what feels like a decade. It’s time. I want somewhere I can call home.”
Home.The word pierces me right in the chest. I’m sure for him it’s just a simple phrase. A place to sleep at night, make coffee in the morning. Seth has always had a home, a place to go to where he’s loved and accepted no matter what.
For me, it’s a feeling that I’ve always been searching for. And Seth is the only person who ever truly made me feel like I was home.
I clear my throat, turning my attention back to the windows, which look original and in need of a fresh coat of paint. “We should probably head out. Lots to buy today.”
He takes a tentative step inside the room. “Yeah. So about that. I’m obviously up for buying some essential pieces, but I’m not really looking to spend a ton of money. This place isn’t technically mine, and I don’t officially have a job until I win this competition.”
I push past him out of the room, ignoring his cocky—and asinine—claim. “Luckily we’re fifteen minutes away from one of the country’s biggest IKEAs. I’m sure we’ll find what you need and stay on budget.”
“IKEA?” He says the word as if I suggested we pick out a couch from Satan’s Furniture Emporium deep in the bowels of hell. Which I guess is fair.
“Oh man, I should’ve made that part of your list. Build an IKEA dresser with one of your dates.”
“I think I would’ve forfeited on sight.”
“Is it too late to edit our lists?”
“Yes.” He grabs his keys and wallet from the kitchen counter and gestures for me to lead the way. “Okay if you drive? I’m still not used to the traffic, and the freeways here are no joke.”
“Wait, did the great Seth Carson just admit there’s something he can’t do?” I was already planning on driving anyway. Seth was never a big driver; he only got his license in high school so he could commandeer his mom’s van for our make-out sessions, and given his nomadic lifestyle of recent years, I assumed he was still hesitant about getting behind the wheel. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up the chance to poke at his ego.
“It’s not that I can’t, I just haven’t had a lot of practice.” He puffs up his chest. “I’m secure enough to admit when I need help.”
I lead him to my car and unlock the doors, both of us climbing in and buckling up. “The only way to learn is to just go for it, but I’m going to let you take care of that when my life isn’t in your hands.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Watch and learn.”
I’m what many would probably deem an aggressive driver, but I learned quickly that Los Angeles’s freeways (and streets, for that matter) are as cutthroat as its signature industry. What would be aggression anywhere else is practically passive here; it’s cut off or be cut off, drive not the speed limit lest ye be passed on all sides and honked at from here to oblivion.
The exhale of relief Seth lets out once we’re safely parked at the Burbank IKEA is well earned.
I pull out my phone as we ride the escalator up to the top level. “Okay. So bare minimum you need a couch, a bed frame, and a dining room table and chairs. How are you doing on linens and towels?”
“Fine, I guess?” He shrugs, his eyes widening as we crest the peak of the escalator and the showroom spreads out in front of us.
“Do you have more than one set?” I grab a free measuring tape, weaving through the crowds congregated at the beginning of the labyrinth.
“Do I need more than one set?” His voice sounds far behind me and I can practically see him trying to politely maneuver his way through the sea of people without stepping on anyone’s toes. Amateur.
I don’t slow down, following the path of arrows on the polished concrete. “You obviously need more than one set. However, I find Target the superior option for affordable linens and towels.”
Seth finally catches up to me, fear in his voice as he falls into step beside me. “Do we have to go there too?”
I shoot him a pitying gaze. “Not today.” Someone pushes past me, knocking me into Seth. His arm jets out to steady me, grasping my waist and keeping me upright. His fingers squeeze into the curve of my hip, like muscle memory kicks in. He releases me after just a few seconds too many.
My breath quickens in my chest and I don’t think it has anything to do with the marathon-like pace I’ve been setting.
“So what’s first?”
“First?” It’s like the removal of his hand from my body has removed my brain from my skull right along with it.
A knowing smirk teases his lips. “What are we shopping for first?”
