“You actually sound excited.”
“Wishful thinking.” Part of me is terrified and the other buzzes with anticipation. “Now show me my new room before the truck gets here.”
His face widens, and I realize what he’s thinking, but before I can correct myself he speaks. “I’m paying them. They won’t mind waiting until we’re ready.”
We step into Oliver’s house, and I freeze in place. My eyes sweep over the entryway. It’s grand, with every wall arched and clad in artwork, warm cream tones softened by dark wood accents. The air is thick with a faint scent of fresh pine, and something warm like wood.
Oliver walks ahead, veering to the right as we enter a formal living room. “Honestly,” he says, sounding almost embarrassed. “I never use this room. It’s more for show.”
I’ve heard of rooms like this, but actually seeing one is surreal. Cream sofas, a massive fireplace, and arched windows flood the space with natural light… more than I’d imagined for his place. A large, ancient rug with muted mosaics and grays stretches across the dark wooden floors, giving the room a cozy, timeless charm.
His kitchen, visible from here, features sleek white marble counters with dark wood cabinetry. I take in the faded cream rugs with intricate patterns and the assortment of paintings in vibrant, varied styles lining the walls. His taste leans heavily toward floral art, which surprises me. I try to imagine myself here with a morning coffee at that island.
We step back into the hallway and down toward another room. “Is this your room?” I ask softly, feeling a strange hesitancy, like I’m crossing a boundary.
“Yes, it’s mine,” he says, watching me.
The bedroom is enormous. Three times the size of my old one. Tall ceilings, cream walls with delicate detailing, more arched windows letting in soft light. My gaze falls on a dark green and gold tree painting framed in gold above the bed. I’ve never seen artwork quite like it, but it’s beautiful. The bedding is neat, all in cream, with layered, luxurious pillows. I find myself wondering what it would be like to wake up here with sunlight filtering through those custom drapes, but then I quickly push it away.
He points to the bathroom and closet. “Feel free to look around.”
I hesitate, not wanting to invade his personal space. “Maybe just show me my room?”
He cocks his eyebrow. “You’re not taking it?”
I scrunch up my nose, trying to hide the fact it smells and feels too much like him that I wouldn’t sleep well in it. “No. You probably fart and leave marks in there.”
He laughs. “No marks, but I can’t say I’m not human. But if you wanted it, I’d happily give it to you.”
“No, this is your personal space. I was only kidding about taking it over.”Part of me wants to stay here and learn more about the private Oliver that exists in this space. But another part recognizes the danger in that curiosity.
We continue along the main hallway, passing through a vast living area that opens into the kitchen and dining room. More dark wood, warm creams, and iron chandeliers. The back windows let in natural light, but the kitchen feels cozier, almost shadowed compared to the other rooms. It's different from any kitchen I’ve seen.
“I actually use this living room,” he says, grinning. “This is where I watch TV when I’m home.”
I move to join him on the rug. “Oh, good,” I say. “Then we can pick up on that show we’re watching. You haven’t watched episode three without me, have you?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’ve resisted. No point if you’re not watching with me. Plus, I made a promise that I plan to keep.”
His words linger, sending an unexpected flutter through me, but I push the feeling aside. “Come on, I need to see my room so I can get the movers set up.”
We walk upstairs, and I’m grateful for the space. Having separate levels will give me the breathing room I need. He shows me down a hall lined with spare bedrooms, each with tall ceilings, cream walls, and their own variations of the same artful, unique style. Every room has its own character, withdifferent colors in the cushions and throws, and a unique piece of artwork above each headboard.
I stop in one room, captivated by a large painting of a flowering tree. It’s beautiful, filled with pink blossoms, and something about it feels like a sign. “I think this is the one,” I say, stepping in and lying down on the bed, melting into the plush mattress. “Oh,” I sigh, half to myself. “This is heaven.”
“Looks like someone’s found their room.”
I open my eyes to find Oliver leaning against the door frame, watching me with an amused expression that softens into something warmer as our eyes meet.
He takes a step toward me, just as his phone pings with a notification of someone at the door. Oliver clears his throat. “I’ll get that,” he says, heading off.
As much as I don’t want to move, I force myself up before the movers catch me sprawled across the bed. I glance into the adjoining bathroom and closet, marveling at the space. The closet is much bigger than my old one. More than enough room for my stuff.
I hear heavy footsteps and voices approaching, so I step back into the bedroom. The movers file in, taking directions from me as I point out where everything should go.
Just then, my phone buzzes. Declan. I move out to the hallway, with Oliver following. “Hi.”
“Hey, just thought I’d check in,” he says, a bit stiffly. “I’m at the airport now.”
