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His apartment is located at the end of a long hall that always made me feel like I was going to a hidden room in an attic. Some place where secrets can be kept locked away. It was exciting when I wanted to keep him a secret, not so much when I need to be found.
Unlocking the door, he pushes it wide and waits for me to enter.
It takes me a moment as the familiar scent of old varnished wood, polish, and other fresh cleaning products wafts out. My eyes adjust to the darkened interior, a consequence of there being only two small windows, and something thick and painful lodges in my throat.
I take one step inside and then another as I glance around the tiny room. It’s all here, exactly as I remember and, somehow, that makes all of this so much worse.
There’s the kitchenette with the small white fridge he used to stock with diet soda just for me and the bit of counter beside the sink, where I sat to watch him cook on the slim two-burner stove.
Pushed against the wall, there’s the table we never ate at because there were no chairs. But we did use it for other things. Fun things. Dirty things. Things that make me look away from it now.
Beside that is the pocket door to the bathroom, with its tiny pedestal sink and standup shower. I peek at Rowan, trying to imagine how a man his size ever fit in that. Then again, he wasn’t always this big.
When I met Rowan, he was twenty-two. His body hadn’t shed that youthful lankiness. Now he’s… Well, he’s definitely a fully grown male.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I can’t believe you still live here.”
He shuts the door and locks it. “I don’t. Actually, I never really did. Just got the place for us.”
I roll my eyes. “Hard to believe that’s true.”
Coming to stand close to me, too close, he says, “I couldn’t very well take you to my uncle’s house, now could I?”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken me anywhere at all,” I retort.
“That’s also true,” he whispers as he lifts his fingers to graze the shell of my ear. “But I did.”
“So here we are.”
“Yes.”
Unable to take his nearness, I go to the kitchen and run my palm over the laminate counter. “It’s pretty clean for being unlived in.”
“I had someone come in yesterday to scrub down everything and replace the linens. As much as it pained me to get rid of anything with your scent, they were musty. What do you think?”
I pick at a peeling spot and stare hard at it. “About getting rid of them?”
“About the new bed covers.”
Slowly, I lift my gaze to the side of the studio I’d been avoiding. The one where the full-size bed is set against the wall.
It’s hard to see the fluffy white comforter and plush pillows when the raw images of Rowan and me entwined on that bed fill my head. The sheets were thin and cheap, as was the reversible coverlet. But none of that mattered, because they often ended up on the floor anyway when we made love.
“It’s nice,” I say, my mouth gone dry. “Did you pick it out yourself?”
“Yes.”
“What about my dress.” I shift my eyes to him and pluck at the shoulder pad. “You pick this thing out too?”
“Yes.”
“So you have good taste, just chose not to exercise it when it came to your bride.”
He chuckles, his blue eyes lightening for the briefest moment as they trail over me. Then, almost instantly, it all changes. The amused smile remains, but the light in his gaze vanishes, leaving behind something dark and primitive.
“You really dislike that dress so much?” He tilts his head, watching me, adding a sense of trickery to the question.
“I do.”
