While Theo’s in the bathroom, I pull on my panties and pick up his shirt. It’s still warm and smells like him. At the moment, I smell like him too. I wrap that fact around me as tightly as I do the flannel.
You are exquisitedoes not seem like a precursor toGet out of my apartment, so I slip out of the bedroom to peek around.
The hall light is on, along with the one over the stove. Otherwise, the living room is dark, the shades drawn against the yellow ambient light from outside.
From what I can see, his decor carries over the color scheme from the bedroom, this time with tan and white accenting the gray. His desk is brown wood and looks custom made. Unlike mine, which is cluttered with used mugs and nerdy figurines, his contains neatly organized equipment, including two monitors, a split keyboard, a sideways mouse, a set of speakers, a microphone, and what looks like an antique alarm clock, the kind with actual bells on top. His chair is an expensive ergonomic one I’ve been eyeing but can’t afford.
There’s a single framed photograph, but I don’t pick it up. That feels too intrusive, even for me.
Theo also has a ton of plants. Like, at least twenty. They’re everywhere—hanging from the ceiling, perched on thewindowsill, even stationed around his desk in small white pots. And they’rethriving. If I needed more proof of his caretaking abilities, it’s right here.
His kitchen is spotless, which is a turn-on but also makes me hate him a little. The appliances are stainless steel, and the cabinets are black with brushed-metal fixtures, way more modern than my kitchen’s dated oak ones. The backsplash is dark-gray subway tiles with white caulking, unlike mine, which are the reverse.
And just like he said, there’s an extra counter jutting out from the wall.
Swoon.
I imagine spending time here with him. His apartment feels so much more like a home than mine does. What if I took him up on his offer to use his kitchen, to chat with him between focused work sprints? What if we both ordered the lunch special from Yummy Thai and sat right at his little dining table to—
“Holy shit!”
A sudden movement from the sofa makes me jump out of my skin. Green eyes flash at me in the light from the stove, and I press a hand over my chest.
It’s his cat, Tink.
Once my heart rate calms, I move toward the sofa with slow, careful steps, not wanting to spook her. She’s gray and blends perfectly with her surroundings. I wonder which came first, the cat or the color scheme?
“Hi, Tink.” I hold out my hand, palm up. “I’m Evie.”
The cat sniffs my fingertips thoroughly, probably smelling her owner—Roommate? Servant? Serf?—on them. Then she deigns to rub her cheek across my nails, and I take that as an invitation to scratch behind her ears.
She starts to purr, and I smile.
“What about us?”
I jolt. Theo is standing at the entrance to the hallway in boxers, socks, tattoos, and nothing else. He really does walk quietly. He holds my sweater, running the white trim through his fingers and examining where it detached from the neckline.
I swallow hard and repeat the question back to him. “Whataboutus?”
“You said this shirt wasn’t made to last longer than tonight.” He looks up from the sweater, and the overhead light casts his eyes in shadow. “Arewegoing to last longer than one night?”
The fact that he’s asking should mean something, but I’m scared to even guess what that could be.
I shrug and keep my tone airy. “Up to you, buddy.”
He drapes the shirt over the back of his desk chair and pads over to me. Cupping my face, he looks me right in the eye and says in a quiet voice, “Look, I’ve been told in the past that I need touse my wordsmore. I’m still working on it, but believe me when I say you have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
“Really?” I couldn’t look away from him if I tried. These past few months, I’ve been so stuck in my head, so sure my crush was one-sided ...
He wears a patient expression. “Since the day you moved in. Do you remember?”
“That you helped the movers carry my couch up the stairs? Of course I do. It went above and beyond neighborly duty.”
His thumb strokes my cheek. “Not that part. Afterward. When I tried to ask you out.”
Shock colors my tone. “You did?”
“I started to say,If you want coffee,but you cut me off.”
