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He gestures to the closet behind me. “You can put your coat in there. Boots too.”
I do as he says, and when I turn, I find his eyes on me.
I shiver, unable to stop myself. When I bend to lift my suitcases, he moves fast, taking them both in his large hands. I watch him move down the hall, passing the wide set of stairs. I’m disappointed. I want to know what’s up there. I want a tour of his beautiful home.
Everything is wood, and stone, and rustic, and earthy. It's nothing like my trailer back home. My trailer has the personality of the 70’s. It’s lonely in my trailer, lackluster. It's lonely here, too, I think.
I wonder why he's so lonely. It can't just be his scars, can it? Can he possibly think that he has nothing else to offer because he's scarred? There has to be more to his story. There has to be more of a story behind his lonely soul.
I wonder if he's going to want to know my story.
Will he want to know why I'm lonely. Why I answered an ad such as the one that led me here to him?
Will he want to know about them?Will I tell him?
He walks down the hall that is long and wide. This home is spacious. The floors don't moan beneath my feet. They're strong and sturdy and the color of burned honey. Everything is so warm and rich; I could get lost here.
Still, when the blizzard blows by, I’ll be gone too.
We pass an open door, and inside, I see a desk. An office, I think. Does he work from home?
I want to ask. I want to know about this man whose mother thought to gift me to. I don't want to invade his privacy, though. I've invaded enough as it is.
The door next to his office is the bedroom he leads me into. “It doesn't have a private bath, but there's a bath across the hall. As you can imagine, Mom made sure it was fully stocked.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“You can put your clothes in the closet or the dresser. Both are empty.”
“That's okay. I can live out of my suitcase.” His jaw hardens, like he doesn't like my answer. “Or maybe I’ll hang a few things.”
He nods, looking pleased. “Good.”
I tap my hands on my thighs as I roam deeper into the room. It’s big and beautiful. Again, the design is rustic, but pops of creams and pinks have been added. I wonder, did Lucy add the cream and pink because I said my favorite color was pink?
Behind the bed is a wall paneled entirely in wood. The bed is a queen, which is plenty big for me. The bed frame matches the end tables in a darkly stained, contemporary wood with sleek corners and matt black hardware. The lamp on the nightstand is cream and delicate, which makes me think that like the bedding, it’s new.
On the wall opposite the door, there is a big window. I’m sure the picture beyond is something to see, but it's so dark outside, and with the swirling snow and the light on in the bedroom, all I can see when I look at it is my own reflection staring back. And beyond my reflection, I can see that Nick is staring at me too.
Heat pricks my skin, and my heart starts an unsteady rhythm.
I spin when Nick moves into the room, placing the suitcases next to the dresser on the wall opposite the bed. The room is big—massive even—but with him in it, it feels small. He’s a large man. Larger than large, really. I’m five two and he towers over me at six four, six five, even. He’s broad too, and he must work out because under his skin muscles bulge.
“Are you hungry?” His deep voice rumbles into the silence. I swear, I feel his voice like a physical thing.
“I can eat,” I say softly.
“Right. You want a tour of the house now or later?”
I shift, feeling suddenly nervous. “I'd really like to change.”
He eyes me up and down. I wonder what he’s thinking as his gaze roams my body. Does he like what he sees?I can’t tell…
“Think you can find the kitchen on your own?”
“Probably.” I smile, and his eyes drop to my mouth.
I feel a flutter in my stomach, and I can’t deny that I'm attracted to him. I'm surprised. I haven't been attracted to a man in a long time. So long, in fact, I don't remember the last man I felt genuine attraction. But I feel it for this man.
