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“Let’s go. What are you going to do, sit on the stool for hours? You’re tired.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “She might even have some food up there. Although, knowing my sister, maybe not.”
“Are you sure she won’t mind?”
“As long as you don’t rifle through her shit or steal anything, I don’t see why she would. She’s stuck in Wisconsin because of the storm. She knows how bad it is.”
“Okay. Let me grab my bag.”
He studied her as she walked past. She moved much slower than she had when she arrived or any other time she’d been there. He made sure the back door was locked and he turned off the lights. “Going out the front is the fastest way up,” he said when she came back carrying her coat and bag.
He unlocked the door but hesitated to open it. “The door upstairs is right around the corner, but given how windy it looks, you might want that coat on.”
“I think I can last a couple of minutes. I’ve lived in Chicago my whole life.”
He yanked the door open and she swept through. As he locked up again, the wind kicked up, cutting through his shirt. He hurried to the next door to unlock it. By the time he ushered London through, she was shivering. He huffed. “Should’ve listened.”
“I’m fine,” she said with another shudder before she began climbing the stairs. His gaze caught on the sway of her ass as she moved and he quickly looked away.
At the top of the stairs, he pulled out the keys and unlocked the door.
“Why do you have a key to your sister’s apartment?”
“It used to be mine. I bought a house and moved out. When Bronte needed a new place, I told her she could have it.”
“That’s nice of you.” She walked through the door and set her things on the floor. “I like living in my workspace, though.”
“You have a studio?”
“I have a loft. The rest of the building is co-op space. Lots of artists and musicians.”
“Separation of work and personal space is good. Or so I’m told.”
She smiled. “That explains why you’re always coming into your studio at all hours.”
He locked up behind them. The place suddenly felt so much smaller than when he’d lived here. It was a studio, so standing in the doorway, you could see the entire space except for the bathroom. Bronte had set things up differently than he had. She’d created a bedroom space with a room divider. What did she need privacy for? It wasn’t like he routinely wandered up here looking for her.
“It’s cute,” London said.
He moved toward the kitchen area. “Want something to drink? I’m sure she has coffee if nothing else. I just have to find it.”
“Let me. Unless you don’t want me digging around. You’ve been great all night, putting up with me and helping me with my glass. The least I can do is see if I can scrounge something to eat and drink for us.”
He held out his arms. “Have at it,” he said and took a seat on a stool at the breakfast bar. London rummaged through the fridge and came back with an armful of items. “Grilled cheese okay for you? It’s an awesome midnight snack.”
He looked at the clock. It was already well past midnight. “That’s fine, but you don’t have to cook. I can probably find a bag of pretzels or something.”
“Psh. We’ve been working for hours.” She returned to the fridge.
The sight of her bent over had him heating up again.
“Do you think Bronte will mind if I have some of her wine? I’ll buy her a new bottle.”
He laughed, and she spun around.
“I’m sure she can afford to let you have her two-dollar wine.”
London sent him a playful look that pulled him closer. With a shake of her head, she said, “Never underestimate the power of a good, cheap wine.”
With a saucy wink, she spun back around and began opening cabinets. “Glasses?”
