I jump at the sound of his voice. Without turning around to look at him, a steady hand smooths its way over the middle of my back just in time before I dig myself a bigger hole with my mouth.
“Don’t scare her off,” he says. His fingers dance across the side of my rib cage and I’m pulled toward him, suddenly fitting tight under the crook of his arm.
Gayle shoos her hand toward her son. “Oh, please. If she agreed to live with you and your snoring and messy room didn’t terrify her enough to leave, then she never will.”
She winks and I slowly turn my head to look at Warren. His eyes narrow ever so slightly and his jaw flexes. It’s the look you’d expect from someone who just found out they have a new and unwanted roommate.
He should be so lucky. I’m an excellent roommate. If you enjoy not talking and a spotless house, that is.
“Right . . .” he drawls and then side-eyes me. His grip around my middle tightens and I swallow hard enough for the group of people across the lawn to hear. Yet another part of the equation I couldn’t have prepared for. Touching.
To get his gaze off me, I subtly shrug and snap my attention back to his mom. Before I get a chance to say anything though, a voice that I recognize as my boss calls from the grill by the pool.
“Steaks are done!”
“You kids hungry?” Gayle says over her shoulder as she turns away from us to walk back inside. I take the opportunity to step out of Warren’s hold. The hand that was just on me is stuffed into his front pocket and his other hand runs over the facial hair above his top lip. Finally, he strides over to the screen door and holds it open. Keeping my eyes on the ground, I step inside the house.
I grew up in the city in a downtown high-rise. My parents owned the building we lived in and where they ran their investment firm. They spent most of their time at the office and were hardly ever in the penthouse a few floors up where our home was.
I, on the other hand, was stuck there most of the time before I was sent to boarding school. I hated the cold and monotone decor even though my mother described it as modern and sophisticated.
This home is the polar opposite of that.
There is sunshine everywhere. Not just in the natural light through the windows, but in the warm colors and soft furnishings that tell me people enjoy this space as more than just an aesthetic. It’s not for show, it’s for family. Friendship. Comfort.
Gayle places a bowl of fresh fruit in the center of the long table. It’s not a formal dining room, but it fits nicely in the open space just off the kitchen.
“Warren, have a seat here. We have a lot to talk about,” Mr. Grant says from his spot at the head of the table.
Warren walks toward the seat closest to Henry, but not before grabbing my hand and towing me along with him. He pulls the chair out for me, and I sweep the skirt of my sundress under my thighs to sit down. You’d think he’d sit down and leave it at that, but he cups the nape of my neck instead.
It’s a firm grip and my spine instantly stiffens. There’s nothing I can do to stop him from leaning down and pressing his lips against the wavy brown hair hanging over my ear.
“Relax,” he whispers.
I fold my hands in front of me on the table while he takes his seat. It doesn’t feel quite right, so I move them back to my lap. Then down at my sides and up to the table again.
To distract myself, I grab a nearby roll and put it on my plate along with an assortment of other fresh and delicious-looking food.
“I need an update on how the business is going,” Mr. Grant says through a mouthful of steak.
Warren nods a few times. He pushes the food around on his plate with his fork and presses his lips together tightly.
“Still on track to open in August,” he finally answers. It’s impossible to miss the discouraged undertone. “Hoping I didn’t make a mistake sinking so much into it.”
I don’t look his way, but my ears perk up. We spoke about this briefly when we first met. I push a mandarin orange section around on my plate and smile softly remembering how obvious it was that he was extremely excited about his dealership and service center. His smile was radiant when talking about it at the time, but today he seems more hesitant.
“Cold feet?” A man who’s sitting right across from us says. His face is weathered in a way that makes me think he works outside a lot. I recognize the familiar shape of his jaw and his right arm is stretched out along the back of Mrs. Farrow’s chair.
“Not exactly,” Warren shakes his head. “Just stressing a little about how things will turn out, I guess. This is my dad, Savannah.”
He gestures toward the man across from him to formally introduce us, and he politely smiles at me.
“Nice to meet you,” I nod.
“Call me Wade,” he says.
“You’ve done a wonderful job with the building and getting the inventory ready, dear. We’re so proud of you,” Gayle chimes in, reaching across the table to cover Warren’s hand with hers. “As soon as the rest is finally in place, it’ll be a smashing success. Don’t fret over that.”
