“I think so … but maybe I need some convincing.”
Pat needs no more convincing, fusing his mouth to mine. I grip his shirt, pulling him closer, letting my hands glide up his broad chest. The loft is forgotten as we pause for a minute—or an hour? Pat’s kisses have a way of bending time. When we come up for air, I’m feeling languid and kiss-drunk.
But Pat’s energy only seems heightened. He gives me a broad smile and then tugs on my hand.
“Time for the full tour,” he says, his boyish excitement returning in full force. “I have so much more to show you.”
“I think I might need to think about the wall a bit more,” I tell him, but he only laughs, dragging me onward.
The kitchen is fully functional, even though a few things are still missing, like stools for the island and the hood over the stove. Pat already has dishes and all the necessities in the drawers and on the shelves. Everything is gorgeous, a mix of modern and classic—the best of both worlds. It’s very Pat, but it also is the style I would have chosen. It feels like US.
Pat leads me to the giant windows along the front. An electric saw and some other tools sit near a puddle from the storm, and a new metal railing is in place but unsecured. “The balcony isn’t quite done, but you can walk out to it here and from your office.”
“My … office?”
Pat grins and throws open a door. Inside is a small room flooded with light. There are bookshelves waiting to be filled, a chair, and a desk facing the window and balcony door. Another big window on the side wall overlooks the library down the street.
I run my palms over the surface of the desk, then sit down. The small wingback is so much more comfortable than the cheap office chair I suffer in when I work at home.
“I know you don’t use your home office much, but I thought it was because you were avoiding me.”
It was, actually, and guilt floods me. I stand up and wrap my arms around him. “This is perfect. I will love working here.”
If my office got me all emotional, Jo’s room pushes me over the edge. The room is at least three times the size of her little closet room at the farmhouse, but still maintains the same cozy aesthetic. Curtains hang around the bed, which will give Jo the ability to close herself in. There is a built-in window seat with a cushion and storage underneath. One entire wall is bookshelves, half-filled already with many of her favorites. There is even a ladder that slides along the bookshelves, every book lover’s dream.
“Jo will never leave this room,” I say. “Speaking of which, I need to pick her up from school soon. She’s going to totally flip out.”
“One more room first,” Pat says, dragging me by the hand. We barely glance into the bathroom next to Jo’s room, and then Pat pauses in front of the last door, which is back by the kitchen.
“What?” I ask, suspicious of the guilty look on his face. “Is this like Bluebeard’s secret closet?”
Pat doesn’t immediately say no, which is not the best sign. He bites his lip, then puts a hand on the doorknob. “In my defense, I designed this place with hope in mind. I didn’t think we’d be moving in so soon.”
“Hope for what?”
The door swings open. I’m so distracted by the gorgeous master bedroom that it takes me a moment to see exactly why he’s hedging: the king-sized bed in the room.
The ONLY bed in the room.
Chapter Thirty-One
Pat
After Lindy leaves in my truck to pick up Jo, I head out, feeling a restless tension building in my body. Maybe it’s all the pent-up feelings left after twenty-four hours of being in the kissing zone with Lindy. Or perhaps I’ve been clubbed over the head with the same emotional overwhelm Lindy has.