Page 40 of Back Outside Edge

“Thanks.” He leans forward as well, giving me better access to the tuxedo cat. “This one is Georgia. She’s Tea,” he adds, motioning toward the statue on the floor. “They’re my babies.”

“Of course they are.” What is it about Stefan with a cat in his arms that makes my heart melt even more? The man should not be capable of being any more endearing, yet here we are.

After a tour of the first floor, we climb a set of stairs and Stefan leads me down another hall, the cats dogging our heels. They’re tricky, slipping in front of my feet whenever I’m not paying attention, as if determined to make me trip over them. It’s good Stefan won the fight over who got to pull my luggage, because it leaves me with more maneuverability whenever one of them dodges in front of me out of nowhere.

Stefan’s laughing, watching me as we move down the hall. After a few closed doors, he pulls up in front of what is clearly a guest room. The laughter fades and he looks at me through his lashes. How he manages it when we're basically the same height is a mystery. "This is you."

It's a beautiful room, on the side of the house overlooking the canyon. The walls are white, as are most of the walls in the house, and the furniture is some kind of red wood. Actual redwood, since we’re in California? I have no idea.

The wood, or stain, or whatever, matches the landscape as perfectly as Stefan does. It's the same shade as the rocks in the canyon. The sage colored linens blend into the bushes out the windows as well. Did Stefan do the interior design himself? If so, he's a man of many, unexpected talents. The house is sparse, minimalist, but lovely.

"Thank you."

Stefan sets my bags down inside the door, then hovers, peeking over at me from time to time. It’s the shyness I found in Frankfurt, making me desperate to take him in my arms and kiss him. "The bathroom is right next door." He gestures to the door on our right. "And I'm there." Another gesture, this time to the door ending the hallway to our left.

He’s blushing, and I’m not sure why, so I smile at him as reassuringly as I can. "This is great. Thanks."

A brief flash of a smile back at me. "It's just that..."

Spit it out, Stefan, you adorable man, you. He's blushing harder, and it sends him straight off the cuteness scale. How a man can simultaneously be my idol and the cutest thing I've ever seen, I have no idea. "That?"

He ducks his head, all but shuffling his feet. "If you wanted to stay with me..."

"I am staying with—" Oh. Oh crap. "You mean in your room?"

"You don't have to. Obviously. This is your room. I'm just—if you..."

Well, this is a twist I hadn't expected, but should have, especially after he held my hand outside. If I moved into his room, would it indicate something more serious than I’m interested in? Than I assume he is interested in. Sharing a room, even if for only a few nights, when we're not forced into it... It's a choice.

A choice Stefan, king of the no-roommates policy, has made.

The idea of sharing space, a bed, with him sounds amazing, perfect, everything I could ever want. Stefan, right here for the taking, all night every night. All but handing himself to me on a silver platter, if the invitation is any indication.

But I need to be careful. He gets under my skin too easily. That blush alone is enough to send me into very dangerous territory. Stefan looks more vulnerable than I feel, so maybe I need to protect his heart as much as my own. The longer I dwell over the best answer, the more uncomfortable he looks; I can’t think about it anymore without running the risk of hurting him. "What if we play it by ear?" I ask. "Instead of deciding right now?"

Well, at least it’s an answer. Since his face clears back into my own personal smile, it must be an acceptable one. "That's a good idea."

"I have one, every once in a while."

In that moment, we're back on solid ground. He nudges me in the ribs, a playful shove. "I'm sure more than once in a while. Come on." Abandoning both the rooms and the discussion around them, he starts back down the hall toward the stairwell, then stops mid-stride. "Wait. You want to shower and stuff, huh? You should do that. I should let you do that."

"Are you implying I stink?" I tease, keeping my face as solemn as I can manage.

He gives me a horrified look. "No, of course not! It's just that after I fly I always want to shower."

Should I feel bad for making him feel bad? Nah. He’s too cute when he’s flustered. "I'm kidding. A shower sounds great."

Stefan looks relieved. It's adorable. Yet another reason to keep flustering him. "I'll make dinner. Just come downstairs when you're ready."

"I can help."

"Nope." He gives me a decisive shake of the head. "You're my guest, so I will make your dinner."

"Fine, I’ll take a shower and come downstairs. Dinner had best be waiting and ready for me."

A sparkling grin. Good, he’s got me figured out now. Flustering him is one thing; being an ass is another. I’m glad he didn’t take it wrong. "Considering it takes you like three minutes to shower, I doubt that'll happen."

"Well, I'll take my time."