The space pretty much screamed that it was designed by a professional. Nolan snored softly, so Grayson got out of bed to use the bathroom. Now that sun was streaming in through the huge windows at one end of the space, he could see the apartment in good lighting. The floors were polished concrete, the walls were mostly exposed brick, and Nolan had clearly decided to go in an industrial direction with his design. There was a lot of metal, a few upcycled pieces that looked like they had maybe once been part of some kind of machinery, and the occasional pop of color. The whole space was a bit brutal and masculine. Grayson wondered what that said about Nolan’s mood when he’d designed the space; Nolan was generally known for a softer aesthetic. Or maybe he just was for his clients but liked something else for himself. The only thing in the room that felt even a little soft was a huge painting of an abstract purple flower hanging on one wall.
Grayson also couldn’t help but wonder what one paid to live in a loft this big in Chelsea. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
After leaving the bathroom, he did a lap around the kitchen area, one corner of the loft that looked like it had been renovated recently. The cabinets were dark wood and the counter was gray quartz with a little bit of sparkle. All of the hardware was black, including the sink and faucet. The appliances were brand-new charcoal gray stainless steel. It was a rather dark kitchen, actually, mitigated only by the white subway tile backsplash and the enormous amount of light from the adjacent window.
“You hungry?”
Grayson spun around and saw Nolan, clad in a pair of gray sweatpants, staring back at him. Grayson realized abruptly he was not wearing a stitch of clothing.
“Uh,” Grayson said. “Sure. I was just admiring your home design. Do you cook?”
“Yeah, I cook. How do you feel about pancakes?”
“I love pancakes. Um. I should probably go put some pants on.”
“Don’t feel like you have to on my account.” Nolan gave him a once-over as he walked to a cabinet.
Grayson compromised by putting his briefs back on. Then he sat at the cute little wrought iron table next to the refrigerator.
Nolan was whisking something in a big bowl as he eyed a griddle on his stove. He set the bowl aside for a moment and turned to him. “You have plans for today?”
“No, not really.” It was a day off. Had Grayson just gone home from the studio last night, he probably would have slept in and spent the day lazily binging some trashy TV show.
“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t keeping you from something,” said Nolan.
“Only a hot date with my TV and this bonkers reality dating show I’ve been watching.”
“Bonkers in what way?”
“They threw a diverse group of singles at an island resort and let them sort themselves out, basically. There’s one girl on the show who is basically my id. She’s fussy and particular but really funny about it, and she spends most of every episode being snarky about the other people on the show. I love her. Also, there’s this one gay guy who issohot. Like if Jesse Williams and Michael B. Jordan somehow mated. He’s having a little romance with a guy who is very sweet but a little socially awkward. I’m eating it up.”
Nolan laughed. “Really, really not my thing, but it’s good you’re enjoying it.”
“Hmm. You can’t tell me you don’t watch TV because I saw a very nice flat-screen over there. Does this mean you only really like erudite dramas or whatever?”
“I actually don’t watch much TV. But I like movies.”
“Okay. I guess I can accept that.”
Nolan poured batter onto the griddle in neat circles. Grayson watched them fluff up as they cooked. He was impressed that Nolan had just whipped up pancakes from scratch without a recipe or anything. “Do you mind me watching you cook?”
“No. I like the company.”
“Okay. I never know. My mom used to love it when I hung around the kitchen while she was cooking, but my dad always kicked me out, because me watching him made him self-conscious. I don’t cook, so I don’t know.”
Nolan flipped each of the pancakes over and then got a plate down from a cabinet. “I like to cook. Well, really, I like to bake. I think if I hadn’t become an interior designer, I’d be one of those bakers who makes really elaborate cakes.”
“Really? ’Cause I’ve seen some of that Restoration Channel show where the bakers compete to make the fanciest cake, and I always wondered if those cakes even tasted good. Like, sure, you made a unicorn out of fondant and modeling chocolate, and it looks amazing, but neither of those things actually tastes very good. I’d rather have a delicious and plain cake than a fancy one that tastes like Styrofoam.”
Nolan transferred the pancakes from the griddle to a plate and then started another batch. “You want some bacon?”
“Obviously.”
Nolan didn’t have the microwavable bacon Grayson usually bought but pulled out an honest-to-goodness rasher of bacon wrapped in white butcher paper out of the refrigerator. He carefully unwrapped it and tossed a few slices on the griddle. “Oh, I put coffee on. Looks like the pot’s almost ready. Help yourself. Mugs are in the cabinet above the coffee maker.”
“Bless you.”
“Sugar’s in the container next to the coffee maker, and there’s half and half in the fridge.”
