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“Okay,” I agreed, shrugging. “I guess that makes sense. I mean, no way I would be washing everyone’s bikes every day… what’s that look for?” I asked as his lips curved up and his eyes brightened.
“You sure? Wouldn’t mind watching you wash my bike,” he said, then turned and walked toward his door before I could fully process what he was saying. “You coming in?” he called, making my head whip over to find him moving through the door, and leaving it open. Like he expected me to follow.
And, damn him, I was going to.
In my head, I was pretending like I needed to help him set up his record player, and show him how to actually play the records.
In my heart, I knew my motivations weren’t anywhere near that pure.
So I slammed my trunk, and I followed him up the steps of his little porch, then into his home.
And it was… nothing like I expected.
I guess you could say my opinion on men’s interior decorating was, you know, low. The select few guys I had been involved with over the years lived like frat boys. Cheap, ugly furniture, no paint, no art, no window dressings or carpets. And damn sure no headboards on the bed. Typically, the only times those places ever saw a vacuum or a dust rag was when I pulled them out because I couldn’t take the ick.
Apparently, there were men out there who knew what they were doing when it came to making a house a home. Finn included.
The interior had a distressed brick facade on the upper half of the walls and a gray-green color on the wainscoting on the lower portion. The wood floors were wide-planked and a light color. The furniture was sparse—likely because it didn’t sound like Finn had company often—but what he did have looked like good quality. There was a material loveseat facing a big TV and a black leather armchair set up near a window.
The windows didn’t have curtains, but they did seem to have a tint of them to lend some privacy. At least in the daytime.
He even had some art. Black and white prints placed here and there.
“There,” I said, pointing near the black leather chair. “That’s where you should put the record player,” I added, meaning the little cabinet under the window. It was perfect. “You can sit in the chair and still change the record easily. Besides, this is, like, your TV area,” I said, pointing toward the area by the couch. “So this can be your music area,” I added.
“I like the way you think,” he said, pulling out the record player box. “Alright. I’ll unpack this. You go snoop.”
“I wasn’t going to snoop,” I insisted.
“Oh, bullshit,” he shot back with a grin. “I snooped through your CDs. It’s only fair.”
Well, I didn’t need to be told twice.
I moved through from the living room and into the kitchen. It wasn’t a huge space, but gave mine a run for its money.
This room had lots of white. White walls, white cabinets, white subway tile backsplash, and quartz countertops. There was a little dining space in front of the windows that overlooked a decent-sized backyard for the area.
It didn’t scream Finn to me, so I thought that maybe the previous owners had renovated it before he bought it.
Moving on from the kitchen, I found a hallway bathroom that had the same very white vibes of the kitchen, one completely empty room—guest room, I guess, but he didn’t want anyone thinking they could stay over. Even his couch was too small to sleep on.
Then, jackpot, the primary bedroom.
The same floor from the rest of the house continued on in here, but the walls were painted a light gray that matched the bricks from the living room. There were two more black and white prints above the bed that dominated the space.
And, yes, the man had a headboard.
A deep gray one.
Nice bedding too.
The thick, fancy hotel room sort.
I was walking over toward the window—and he did have curtains in his bedroom, thankfully—when a pile of paper on his nightstand caught my eye.
I was being invasive, but he did invite me to snoop, so I went ahead and walked over to pick the pile up.
There was the notebook page I’d torn off with song suggestions. And he’d taken the time to rate each song based on how much he’d liked them.
That was unexpectedly cute of him.
“I’m all ready for you,” Finn said, startling me as I read the paper, so the one underneath fluttered down on top of his bed.
A little blue rectangle with messy handwriting on it.
I was already reaching for it when I realized what it was.
A prescription.
“It’s for an antidepressant,” Finn supplied, surprising me by being so open. “I’m trying to decide if I want to fill it or not.”
