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I stare up at the unkempt house, and Zeke shifts beside me again. He’s looking at his feet and chewing on his lip. We switched roles in an instant, his shuffling and twitching indicating he’s got something on his mind.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“I feel sick. I’m gonna have to tell my siblings. And you’re gonna have to meet them. My family is…” he trails out, and I fully understand.
I touch his arm, the firm muscle flexing under my palm. God, those arms. The ease with which he once lifted me onto his desk.
Focus, Nova.
“Wait until you have to meet mine. Then we’ll compare whose family is more embarrassing.” I smile at him, needing him to be calm because I’m not calm. I’m trying. With everything I have, I’m trying, but the tremor in my hand is noticeable, and he looks at my palm still on him.
He lets out a deep rumble of a laugh, and my body responds to it, a shiver rolling down my spine. I breathe through it like it’s a wave of pain, a sensation I have to endure for a moment before it passes. It’s not uncommon to be amped up sexually during pregnancy due to hormones and excess blood flow, but this is getting ridiculous.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Nope.” I huff and run my fingers through my hair, trained to enter all new situations looking as flawless as possible.
“Me, either.” He breathes in deeply, expanding his chest. “Well, let’s do it.”
We move around the side of the house to a small entrance. It’s dim, and the concrete steps are slightly uneven as we step down. I hold onto the rail for balance. It takes extra effort to move my numbing feet and legs, like boulders that are no longer listening to me. This is common for me when I’m tired. My feet and hands stop working as they should.
Balance is the thing I struggle with most, and I do daily yoga to combat it. But when I become fatigued, my brain and body don’t communicate like everyone else’s. With my MS, it means my nerves tap out, too.
Zeke waits for me at the bottom of the steps, holding his hand out to me to help me through the shadowed space. When I slip my fingers in his, that same feeling I had when we hooked up in his office comes over me. This sense of belonging is unexplainable.
He keeps my hand in his as he opens the door and flips on the light switch. The basement apartment floods with warm light, and I’m stunned at the sight of the place. There’s a modern rustic appeal to it, and the first thing I think of is my YouTube channel. Filming in this place would be a dream. The hardwood stretches down the hall, and there’s a series of hooks to hang coats made of tree branches. Photos of mountains and rivers and close-ups of wood and stones line the hall like an art gallery, and I follow the track lighting to the open-concept space.
“Wow,” I say, letting go of Zeke’s hand to run my fingers along the kitchen island, the dark granite top in stark contrast to the white cabinets. The kitchen backsplash is bold and geometric, with old farmhouse hardware and faucets. The kitchen stretches into a long living room with one dark, suede-blue wall and a TV mounted in the centre. Another wall has ornate bookshelves built right around the couch where I’d like to curl up and live forever. “This place is gorgeous.”
Zeke leans against the counter, watching me take in the space. I gawk at the brown leather furniture and stone coffee table. Nature touches every wall.
“My brother,” Zeke starts.
“Your brother is amazing,” I say, and he laughs, tightening his arms across his chest.
“Don’t tell him that, or you’ll have to sit through an hour-and-a-half-long lecture on the difference between hardwood and softwood and how to use them to get the perfect aesthetic.”
My stupid pregnancy brain completely zeros in on the way he saidhardwood, and I fight through a new wave of tingling desire. I distract myself by continuing to look through the apartment. The bedroom is blinding white, and I’m impressed a man lives here. Most of the men’s places I’ve been to have a mattress on the floor and a box for a nightstand. Or their houses are professionally staged and designed, and they’ve never noticed or cared. Not a lot of in-between.
This place was deliberately built and designed by the same guy.
The bathroom looks like stepping into a forest to shower. It’s intimate, and the two-person shower is made of rich brown stone encased in glass, with a rain shower head from the roof and two shower heads on the wall.
“I’ll move into the shower, thank you,” I call out to Zeke, who’s still standing quietly against the counter. He runs his fingers across his smug grin and scratches his beard.
This is the third time in our lives we’ve seen each other, but it’s like he knew that if I stepped foot in this place, he’d have me right where he wanted me. I wonder if my need and love for all things aesthetically pleasing are readable in my aura. It’s a part of my soul.
“It’s yours if you want it. I just have to talk to Jethro and kick him out.”
I poke my head through the bathroom door. “He still lives here?”
“Barely,” Zeke shrugs. “That farm you came to—that’s his place. Jess and I were staying there to look after his horse while he was out of town. His girl lives out there, and he spends ninety-nine percent of his time there. I’ll tell him he has to stay at the cabin for… however long you end up here.”
I’m not sure how I feel about kicking this Jethro guy out of his own house. The mention of Jess is a double gut shot. I’m completely moving into Zeke’s life, and guilt hacks down my confidence at the root. In the end, all I’m doing is putting him at risk, too. “I don’t know, Zeke.”
Zeke takes his phone out of his pocket and taps it a few times before holding it out. I hear it ring, meaning it’s on speaker.
“What are you—” I start, but the deepest voice cuts me off.
