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“You have a beautiful home.”
Devlyn shuts the door, sidles up to me, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Thanks. My mother insisted I get more square footage than a single person needs.” He shrugs. “She isn’t a woman easily ignored.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Yeah, I get that. I love my mom, but sometimes she can be a little too persistent.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Water, please.” I set my purse on one of the chairs and follow him to the kitchen just past the sitting room.
A framed pass-through-slash-bar connects the kitchen and sitting room. Rather than use the bar for eating, Devlyn has another vase of flowers. This one shallow and wide and filled with magnolia buds. The fragrance a gradual scent in the air.
The kitchen is U-shaped with white cabinets, black marble countertop, dark-gray marble backsplash, and stainless steel appliances. A small window over the sink at the end looks out on what I assume is the backyard. A small basket of fruit sits on the counter in one corner, a coffee-and-tea station in the other.
Devlyn pours water from a pitcher in the fridge then hands me a glass before filling his own.
Being in Devlyn’s space, without the possibility of interruption, without outside means of distraction, feels claustrophobic and bizarre. Time alone with Devlyn isn’t what has me worried. More often than not, our time together is spent alone.
But this is different.
There is no one to interfere. No servers or patrons or park-goers. No visual deviations such as menus or trees or walkways. And that realization adds a layer of sweat to my skin. Makes my breaths come in short bursts. Makes my pulse whoosh louder in my ears.
Devlyn sips his water, oblivious to my inner freak-out, and steps past me. “Come on.” He glances over his shoulder. “I’ll give you a tour.”
To say I am overwhelmed by the time we finish the tour would be an understatement. This house ishuge.
Five bedrooms—although he showed three, the other two I assume are his bedroom and the studio upstairs—three bathrooms, living and dining room, laundry area, and the backyard. The backyard is as spacious as the front, but inhabited by a large jasmine-covered pergola over canyon stone pavers with short, fine grass between each. A slate-tiled table is parked under the canopy with eight chairs. An oak tree with a trunk too wide to hug halfway shades the yard on the left, a bench swing hanging from a thick limb. Several crepe myrtles appear strategically placed in the yard to add color, shade, and beauty.
We step back inside and I down the last of my water.
The sheer size of Devlyn’s home, how he has attained a level of adulthood I have yet to, sends my head into a tailspin of questions. Has me asking where I went wrong. He has acquired so much at twenty-two and I am barely able to add to my savings each month at thirty-two.
He bumps my shoulder with his bicep. “You okay?”
Am I? Yes. No. I have no freaking clue. “Yeah.” I lift my glass, then remember I have no water to quench the drought in my throat.
Devlyn takes a step and twists to face me head-on. He lifts a hand and presses the tip of his index finger between my brows. “If this spot gets any tighter, it’ll never relax,” he says, dropping his hand. I sigh and close my eyes. “Relax, Shelly.” His voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just me. Us.”
I open my eyes and meet his. There, I see something familiar yet foreign. The man in front of me is Devlyn. Complex and quiet and mysterious. Only now, a darker shade of green rims his pale irises as he holds me captive. Steals my breath and has my brain foggy.
Did a switch flip in his brain?
My voice refuses to work. Even if it did, I wouldn’t know what to say. This is yet another moment where Devlyn confounds me. Says things I easily misconstrue.
So, I simply nod in response. He rewards my bewilderment with a subtle half smile.
“Let’s order food. Was thinking Asian.” His smile grows. “Maybe you’ll also share the story I never heard over lunch at the shop?” My eyes narrow as I think back. “Why you laughed when I asked sandwiches or sushi.”
“Ah.” I nod with a smile. The day comes back in a flash of colors. I was so nervous to eat lunch with Devlyn that I completely forgot. “Yeah, I’ll share over dinner.”
Devlyn pulls up the website for a Japanese restaurant nearby. He hands me his phone, a pad of paper, and a pen. “Write down what you want.”
I arch a brow. “Before I do, you should know… I order a lot. More than a lot.”
With a shake of his head, he laughs. “Doesn’t matter. Leftovers always taste better.”
“True.” I point a finger at him.
A mile-long list later, Devlyn calls in the order. He guides us to the living room—a room he probably spends more time in, if I read the vibe accurately.
