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Dahlia had an internal struggle whether to hold her ground or not. It only lasted a few seconds. She walked to the door, opened it only a crack, and peered over at Trey.
“You’re still here.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I am.”
“How long do you plan on waiting?”
“As long as it takes.”
She widened the door. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes.”
Dahlia rested her head against the edge of the door. She was conflicted. How could she not be? This man, guarded, withdrawn, showing only snippets of his true self, had managed to wiggle his way into her heart. She wanted this. Dahlia wanted Trey. Here was a man who was waiting on her. Trey could have bullied his way into her house, but he hadn’t.
“Why?” she whispered.
Trey straightened and walked to the door, stopping a few feet away.
“You’re worth waiting for, Dahlia.”
Fuck! She liked that too much. She didn’t need proof or confirmation of her worth. Or maybe she did. It wasn’t until his gaze met hers that she was reminded of the boundaries she had to set.
“You can come in, but you’re going to answer my questions. This is my house, and you’re not my boss right now.”
“All right.”
When his lips twitched, she scowled, sending her own type of warning. Trey held up his hand, and she begrudgingly opened the door and watched him walk in. Trey looked out of place in her dingy house of mismatched furniture. When he glanced around the room, she immediately got defensive.
“I’m not interested in your opinion of my home.”
“If you don’t care, then why mention it?”
Because I’m a little embarrassed. Dahlia folded her arms and watched him pass, stopping at the edge of the couch.
“I like your home.” His words didn’t come off as condescending or disingenuous. However, she’d been in his place.
Dahlia snorted and shook her head, peering around the small living room. It wasn’t anything special. But it was hers. It had her touch, her style, as quirky as it may seem.
“You like purple walls?” Dahlia asked, arching her brow in challenge.
“I like that you like purple walls.” It was the most unexpected yet perfect response. But somehow, they were still so far apart. Worlds apart.
“So?” Dahlia raised her brows. “Why are you here?”
“You didn’t return my calls.”
“Oh, you called?”
The corner of his mouth curled. It was evident he didn’t believe her, as he shouldn’t. Dahlia had spent hours at war with her self-control, forcing herself not to cave and listen to his voicemails. Had she heard an apology, she’d be too tempted to forgive and forget. This was bigger than an “I’m sorry.” It needed a discussion with complete and honest communication.
“I’ve been busy, so I didn’t have time to check my messages.”
“Really?” Trey cocked his brow. “Busy doing what?”
“I believe what I’ve been doing outside of work hours falls into the category of—” Dahlia smirked, throwing his words back at him. “—none of your business.”
Trey licked his lips and cupped his jaw. “Touche.”
