“Where’s your dog,” I ask.
He smiles. “Floyd is with a neighbor. He’ll be back soon.”
I can’t wait. I love dogs. John has never been a big fan — he thinks they’re too loud and too rowdy, too needy. He prefers the independence and aloofness of cats. Cats sleep eighteen hours a day, and that suits him just fine.
“You like fish, I hope,” he goes on as we enter a really nice bedroom. A tall beige upholstered headboard reaches the ceiling. A cloud of a duvet covers the queen-sized bed, and is accented by gorgeous pillows. Matching free-floating night tables flank the bed, and are topped with black vintage lamps. The room is lovely, yet manages to still be masculine, and very, very sexy. “Is this Albert’s bed?” I ask in horror.
“No, it’s mine,” he says playfully.
Damn.
The bed had initially caught my attention, and it was all I could see. When I turn, I also see all his amazing watercolors on the walls — yes, definitely his room.
“I’m sleeping on the pull-out sofa,” he’s quick to explain, a little too eagerly. He didn’t even give me the chance to fantasize — how cruel.
“You don’t have to,” I object. “I can sleep on the sofa. It’s no problem.”
He inches closer, very slowly, and my whole body freezes. He rests a warm hand on my arm. “I’m a gentleman, Gabriella. I don’t want you to argue with me about this. You’re sleeping in my bed.”
Double damn.
Therewill besexy dreams tonight… I just know it. As much as I want Eli, I’m so exhausted that the thought of this big bed, of lying in these cozy sheets, all by myself, sounds even more heavenly than sex. Yes, I amthattired.
He’s even left me space in his closet, and an empty drawer. I resist the urge to snoop through his things, but I can’t help but notice the suits hanging in his closet, one black, and the other, navy blue. I picture him wearing them.Oh my…
I quickly tuck away my things, and leave my shoes in my suitcase. I set my toiletries and my purse on top of the dresser. My eye is drawn to the beautiful watercolors on the walls, and the bookshelf — he seems to favor thrillers; James Patterson, Dean Koontz, and other similar authors. There’s a photo of him with his mother and his sister, presumably, and one of him and his dog, the same one he’d sent me, the one that made my insides melt. I still can’t believe I’m actually here, in his bedroom.
I hear a commotion. There’s someone at the door and he’s happy to see them. I walk down the hall, and round the corner. There’s a tall middle-aged woman standing by the door, and his dog is here. Floyd is hopping around, stretching his paws up to Eli’s chest, clearly happy to see his master. Eli leans into him and rubs his face into the fur of Floyd’s neck. Who knew such an innocent scene could be so sexy.
“This is Evelyn,” he tells me. “She’s our next door neighbor.”
“Hello,” she says with a Danish accent. She extends a hand. “It is very nice to meet you.” Her English is almost flawless. I smile up at her. “Nice to meet you too.”
“And this is Floyd,” he offers, and in no time, Floyd is jumping up on me. Eli tells him to settle down, and pulls him back by the collar.
Eli makes a delicious white fish pasta and salad for dinner. The table is perfect; bright orange plates, a large wooden salad bowl, two flickering candles, and the gorgeous centerpiece — my bouquet of tulips. “I’m impressed,” I say between bites. “Handsome, and you can cook too.”
He grins. I love to see his smile. The slightly askew eye tooth makes him even more beautiful, not quite so perfect. “Well, I have no choice. In exchange for a steal on my rent, I often cook for Albert. He’s useless in the kitchen.”
“Lucky guy,” I say. “I’d love having someone to cook for me,” I sip from my wine glass. “John cooks once a week, usually easy stuff like tacos, or homemade pizza, pre-cooked chicken, but I still appreciate the effort.”
“So we’re talking about your husband now, are we?” he says, but his tone is playful, not bitter. “Is this really weird for you?”
I nod. “Um… yes.” It feels so much stranger than I’d anticipated. I feel like I’m cheating on him. I feel like an imposter — I don’t belong here. I belong with my family. “It’s one week, where I get to be someone else. I’m not Gabriella Moore here, suburban married mother of two.”
“Who are you here?” he asks. His eyes are almost impossible to look at — they’re so intense, so powerful. I feel like they could make me do something very foolish.
“I’m just Gabs here, the girl who loves color, who loves fairy tales, and riding a bike. I have no responsibilities, and I don’t need to answer to anyone. And there’s also this beautiful boy I have a crazy crush on.”
He smiles wide. “So tell me about this beautiful boy, Gabs.”
“He’s tall, and has the most stunning eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s funny and a little weird. He’s a phenomenal artist, and can cook too.”
“So do you think you stand a chance with him?”
Oh damn, he’s teasing, playing hard to get.
“I’m hoping so,” I tell him.
