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I swear Declan consumes more food than an entire football team. If it weren’t for the fact that I manage his schedule so he can make time for working out, I would be concerned about the way he eats his way through my entire stash of snacks in less than four hours.
I hit the mute button, silencing the TV. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“You’ve watched eight episodes in a row of them doing the same exact thing.”
“And I could watch another eight more without ever getting bored.” I steal back my bowl of popcorn from his lap. There’s something calming about watching my favorite home improvement couple renovate dilapidated homes. The episodes are short and predictable, which makes them an easy choice when I’m feeling out of sorts.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I’m getting inspired.”
His brows pull together. “Don’t tell me you actually want to do this one day?”
“Of course I do. It looks like so much fun!” Well, at least most of it. I could do without the leaking roofs and sewer issues that seem to pop up out of nowhere.
“They found a family of mice in the last home.” The look of horror on his face makes me crack up.
“Nothing adopting a feral cat can’t fix.”
“I’m allergic to cats.” His nose wrinkles.
“Good thing you don’t have to worry about that then.”
“Why not?” His voice drops.
I laugh and return my attention back to the screen. “Because it’s going to bemyhouse. If I want a pet cat, so be it.”
“Is my house not good enough for you?” His voice comes off flat, but his eyes are anything but.
Where did that question come from and why does his face look like I’m personally attacking him?
“Of course your house is good enough. For now, at least.”
“For now,” he repeats back with a dry voice.
“It’s not like we planned on me living there forever.”
“I know that.”
“You have a very nice house,” I backtrack.
“Not nice enough,” he mutters under his breath.
Is he actually offended by my comments? The idea alone makes my chest clench. Declan isn’t the kind to get offended by anything, but I suppose if I invested twenty million dollars into a home, I wouldn’t want to hear negative comments about it either.
I dance between being honest and polite. “It’s just that…it’s not my style.”
“And what exactly is your style then? A forest?”
My chest shakes as I release a loud laugh. “No.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“Your place is empty, cold, and devoid of any kind of personality. It might be a house, but it’s the furthest thing from a home.”
He strokes his stubbled cheek. “That makes no sense.”
“Let me try to explain.”
