As expected, it’s spectacular.
All open concept, the kitchen has a small island with countertop seating that separates it from the living space. A small space off tothe right is perfect for a small dining table. But it’s the bedroom that has my jaw on the floor. It’s not over-sized, but big enough for a king-sized bed, two nightstands on either side and maybe a dresser along the far wall.
Two closets. I repeat: two closets.
The bathroom, twice the size as the studio unit downstairs, has a second access door that opens to the living room.
And the view—my God. The sliding glass door off the kitchen leads to a balcony big enough for a small patio set. The sweeping Manhattan skyline looks more like the work of an artist on a panoramic canvas than something you could actually experience in real life.
“Wow,” I breathe…to nobody, apparently, because when I turn, Connor’s not there. Rather, he’s back inside in what looks to be a serious conversation with the agent.
I step back inside as the agent says, “I’ll give you two a minute.” Then she’s out the door into the hallway.
Connor’s giddy expression, while full of all his usual endearing magnetism, lacks a single foothold inmyreality. His stubborn ass knows exactly what I’m thinking which is why he hikes his eyebrows three times. I can’t help but laugh and drop my face to my hands. “Connor!”
“Pretty great, right?”
“Of course it is.” The view beyond the balcony beckons my attention yet again. “It’s amazing, but I can’t afford it.”
His face turns serious as he pushes a hand inside his pocket. “I have a proposal for you to consider.”
He holds out his other hand to urge me closer and I panic. “I swear to God, Connor, if this proposal involves a velvet box, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Propose? Psssh,” he scoffs. “I barely know you, woman.” An arrogant smirk curls his lips because we both know that’s a lie—he knows me better than anyone else.
Crisis averted, though, on the velvet box. He’s just a man with his hand in his pocket.
“I’d prefer to date a woman more than seventeen seconds before I ask her to marry me.”
“Glad we’re on the same page, old man.”
“Good. Now, my proposal.”
I raise a hand. “Unless you’re about to tell me that I won the lottery, there’s absolutely no way I can afford this apartment.”
“I know you can’t,” he says, eyes soft on mine with a sparkle of anticipation that has my heart rate barreling. “Butwecould.”
I blink once, twice, twelve times.
“Together, Fish, we can afford this apartment.”
“You want to live together?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I do, but only if you want that, too.”
“But we’ve only been dating for seventeen seconds.”
He laughs. “Yes, and somehow I still know you better than you know yourself.”
He steps closer. I should say something, but the analysis paralysis has me in its firm grip.
“Like right now, you’re wondering if it’s too fast.”
Accurate.
“And to that, I’d say, I’ve loved you for so long that the idea of building a home with you feels more likeit’s about damn time.”
He kisses me.
