Page 76 of The Sweet Spot

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.

Hot dogs?

Why does my apartment smell like hot dogs?

Did I leave the oven on? But I wasn't making hot dogs this morning, and the fire alarm isn’t going off.

On the screen, Whit is biting her bottom lip. “Whit? Where did you say you were?”

She just smiles.

Turning the key, I shove the door open, drop my bag in the hallway, and sprint to the kitchen.

“What the—”

I blink a few times and take a couple of steps forward, because there's no way in hell she's here.

“Whit?” The robe’s gone, and she’s in my jersey and shorts with her hair in a ponytail, holding a plate of hot dogs with all different toppings.

This has to be a dream. There's no way she's here.

“Surprise,” she says with a cute little smile as she stands there almost nervously.

What the hell does she have to be nervous for?! She's the love of my fucking life.

“Are you actually here?” I ask, reaching my hands out to her as I step closer. She places the plate on the counter, and the second my hands find her hips, I exhale.

She's real.

She's here.

Wait.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I say as I drop my lips against her mouth, not wanting to wait for the answer.

“I—” When she backs away a little to tell me, I don't let her. I keep her lips against mine, savoring her taste. After a few minutes, I finally pull back. Her cheeks are flushed, and the red lipstick she was wearing has now smeared off.

“Well, you said I could come here whenever I was free,” she says with a shrug. “I've got two days before I've got to be in Canada, so I changed my plans and took a flight.”

“You came here just to see me?”

She nods. “Yeah, I haven't even told my parents I'm here. Grayson gave me the key to your apartment. Max said he stays here sometimes to hide from his dates. Hope that's okay?”

“It's more than okay. Move in if you want a base in Charlotte that isn’t your parents’ house. I don't care. I just want you here.”

Another kiss.

“Okay, but are you going to explain why Grayson is hiding from women?”

“He's a commitment-phobe. Dates around. Gets himself into situations.” I shrug. “I just give him a couch when he needs one. Not my business.”

“Oh. Does he do it often?”

“Once a week, maybe, but if you lived here, I'd tell him he'd need to crash at Tate’s or Max's. I'm not dealing with his shit then.”

“You're really trying to move me in here when the last time we were in each other's physical presence was when we agreed to do this.”

“Your point?” My fingers dig into her hips, and I lift her up so she's sitting on the counter right next to the hot dogs.