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“Do you want to live here with me, Faith?”
“Yes,” I say. “I do, but the impact of this is hitting me. This is big. Buying a new place to be with me is big. Are you—”
“In love with you? Yes. Obsessed with you? Yes. I am. Shamelessly.”
“Obsession is—”
“Dangerous. Yeah. I know. Sign me up for more.” He kisses me. “Let’s go drink champagne on the plane and celebrate our new home and your show.”
“We don’t have a new home yet, and I’m feeling really nervous about my show. Let’s celebrate after it’s done.”
“You’re going to shine, sweetheart. And we’ll have a home by the time we get to the airport. I’m pulling this place off the market.”
He drapes his arm around my shoulder, and we start walking, but I twist around to look at the space one more time. “I really love it.”
His hand settles at my back. “We could get that cat you’ve wanted.”
I turn to face him. “Do you like cats?”
“I had a cat growing up.”
I blanch, surprised at this news. “Really? What was his name?”
“Asshole most of the time. Jerry the rest of the time. He hated my father. I loved him.”
I laugh but sober quickly with a thought that seems important, considering the steps we’re taking. “Do you want kids, Nick?”
His eyes meet mine, sharp, dark edges in his. “Kids break,” he says. “Parents break them. I decided a long time ago I wasn’t going to break any of my own.”
Relief washes over me. “You know my family history. I feel the same.”
He strokes a lock of hair behind my ear, those blue eyes of his softening, warming. “Possibilities, sweetheart. We’ll start with a cat. We’ll see where it—and life—lead us.”
…
Thirty minutes later, we’re in the lounge area of the plane, champagne-filled flutes in our hands, when the realtor finally calls Nick back. I listen as Nick negotiates, his hand on my leg, touching me—he’s always touching me, as if he is truly obsessed. And I like it.
Five minutes later, he ends the connection and leans over to kiss me. “I made sure it’s ours. We just need to line up a remodeling expert and decide what we want to do with it before we move in.”
“How long will that take, do you think?”
“If I push them, I’d say we can be in the place in eight weeks.”
My cellphone rings, and I grab it from the table built into the floor in front of us, glancing at the caller ID. “Josh,” I greet.
“I got your email about your arrival,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at the airport. Five o’clock, right?”
“I don’t need a ride, but thank you.”
“I’m your agent. I’ll give you a ride.”
“I’m not your only client at the show.”
“If you mean Macom, he can drive himself. He lives here.”
I firm my tone. “Thank you, but I don’t need a ride.”
There is a heavy pause. “Nick’s with you.”
