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“A slide?” I said in awe, itching to ask if I could slide down it but not wanting to let my inner kid show quite that much. I turned back to Ezra. “And you kept it after you moved in?”
He shrugged. “Why not? I figured when I have kids someday, they’ll appreciate it. Besides, it saves time getting down to the first floor when I’m in a hurry.”
I loved learning that he’d actually slid down it himself. Grinning, I asked, “You want kids, then?”
Before he could answer, my eyes widened with horror and I instantly waved my hands to retract what I’d just said. “Oh my God, ignore that. That was totally not me trying to wiggle my way into the do-you-want-kids conversation yet. I didn’t mean for it to come across sounding that way.”
Ezra winked. “I do want kids,” was all he said. “Someday. More than one. Less than five. What about you?”
Oh Lord, we were totally having the do-you-want-kids conversation. Nodding, I gulped before answering, “That… Yeah… What you said sounds good.”
He took my hand, then leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Come on. I want to show you what I’ve been dying for you to see since the first time I stepped into your apartment.”
“O… Okay,” I said and laughed as he rushed us toward the stairs and to the second level.
So, I guess we’d just survived the “kids” talk without a hitch. Cool. I was still reeling by how well it had gone before he stepped into a huge bedroom that had to be the master suite and pointed toward a window along the far wall.
“This is my room,” he said.
I turned to the window, since that seemed to be what he wanted me to look at, and then I froze solid.
“Oh… My God,” I said, my feet carrying me to the seated box window without me being aware of it. “It… It…”
“It’s exactly like the one in your apartment. I know.”
“Holy wow,” I uttered, reaching out slowly to touch the window seat as if I feared it would disappear if I tried. “This is so crazy.”
“I couldn’t believe it the first time I saw yours. I kept wanting to ask if you sat in yours every morning too, drinking coffee and dreaming about the future.”
I turned to look at him slowly. “I do,” I said. “Nearly every morning. It’s like a compulsive need.”
Ezra took my hand. “Me too.”
All this time, we’d both been sitting in our window seats, looking out at the same sunrise, and dreaming for companionship. How crazy to realize we’d always been closer to each other than we’d ever imagined.
I don’t know what kind of magical, kismet fate had finally brought us together, but in that moment, I just wanted to give it a hug in gratitude. And since Ezra seemed to be the human manifestation of my fate, I wrapped my arms around him instead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It would probably be completely unnecessary for me to say my weekend at Ezra’s was amazing, but it was. It totally was.
We spent most of it inside, trying to christen as many rooms as we could—double-christening a few. And when we weren’t sexing it up, we’d sit out on the back terrace, wrapped in a blanket together, enjoying the sunset. Or we watched movies, argued politics, heck, we even played a couple games of chess together. And I took a spin in his mammoth kitchen once or twice, whipping up a batch of chocolate chip cookies.
Nothing else in the world existed but us.
By the time Monday came around, we were both loath to return to reality, where we had to hide our relationship at work and pretend we barely knew each other.
When we returned to his light-blue Bentley in the garage—my purse and overnight bag with me—we were both unusually quiet and subdued. Ezra held my hand while he walked around to the passenger side with me, as if he didn’t want to let go of the moment until the last possible second. The
n again, that was probably just me projecting my own feelings off onto him again, because I certainly didn’t want such a wonderful weekend to end yet.
He opened the back door for me, only to shut it before I could toss my bag inside. Then completely leaning against the car to block me from it, he turned to face me with a thoughtful expression.
“I’ve been thinking… Is hiding this from Lana a ridiculous idea? It’s starting to sound like a ridiculous idea. We’re two single, consenting adults. Why are we letting some third party influence how public we make it? I mean, if she has a problem with us, then that’s her own issue to work through.”
I nodded, listening to his perfectly logical explanation. “Plus, we really suck at hiding it, anyway,” I added.
He pointed. “And that,” he agreed before shrugging. “Mostly that. Because… After this weekend, there’s no fucking way I’m going to be able to hide it.”
