Chapter 16 Evan
Evan
I'm aware Stefan comes from money. Most people at our level of skating do; it's a prohibitively expensive sport. The only reason I've gotten so far is the combination of Skate Canada’s low-income skating outreach and my sports scholarship.
I'm even aware Stefan’s level of money is above most. His family trains and coaches at their own rink; of course he has money. However, there's a difference between knowing he has money and having it shoved directly into my face.
He gives a casual wave though, as if the gigantic house in the middle of the California wilderness is nothing. "No, this is my house. I bought it for the view, honestly."
Sure, because twenty-two-year-olds regularly buy mansions with a view.
Instead of the front door, Stefan wanders around the side of the house, leaving my luggage in the car. Curious, I follow him, and when we arrive at the back of the house, my breath leaves me in a gasp. It's the most clichéd possible reaction to what's in front of me, but I can't help it.
He doesn't have a backyard, not as such. Instead, Stefan has an entire canyon. It's incredible. It's far from the biggest canyon in the world, but it’s gorgeous, the walls covered in a profusion of wild grasses, shrubs, and wildflowers, interspersed with large boulders.
A side deck peeks over the edge with what I imagine is an even better view, and Stefan’s house is almost all glass on the back side.
Yeah, he likes the view, all right. Who wouldn't? "Isn't that house a little big for you?
" I try to make the question sound teasing, like the house is no big deal.
To pretend I'm not some country bumpkin who grew up working and living on a farm my family doesn’t own.
I take a deep breath of the warm air. He could have shown me the canyon from the inside, with the wall of windows, but I’m glad he didn't. Here, I can smell everything. Wildflowers, fresh cut grass, a sharpness I would say was pine trees if any were around, heated rock, dry soil, hardy shrubs like sage, maybe. If I could bottle the scent up, I’d give it to Stefan.
It would be the perfect cologne for him.
He shrugs, all casual, as if none of this is a big deal. "I would have taken any house for this view. But yeah, it's pretty big. I know."
Pretty big? Since when is Stefan the master of understatement? The house could fit a family of ten.
He comes up to stand next to me. He’s closer to me than I remember him standing last time we were together, as if his personal bubble has shrunk over the last couple months. Maybe the last moments we had in Frankfurt dissolved both of ours, because I don’t mind his closeness. Not at all.
Is he still attracted to me? His exuberant greeting made my stomach churn with hopeful nerves, but he was so silent on the drive here. For all his apparent openness to the media, Stefan is a vault when he wants to be, impossible to read.
And now I've been silent too long; I need to say something. "It really is something."
Well, sure, I guess I could say the lamest thing possible.
"Yeah." The back of his hand touches mine. Casual, as if he didn't mean for it to happen, but I instinctively turn my own hand towards his, giving him space to take hold if he wants to.
It's a subtle invitation, and he takes it, causing my breath to hitch. His fingers wrap around mine and it’s warm and wonderful, lighting my skin up, sending my heart rate rocketing.
I guess that answers the question. A couple of months away wasn't enough to bank the fire burning between us. At least not on my end.
Since he's still holding my hand, maybe not on his either.
I sneak a glance away from the scenery to look at him, finding that bright blue watching me back, more gorgeous than I remember.
My racing heart skips a beat. Cardiac arrest, here I come.
His mouth curves into that quirk of a smile, just for me, and everything inside me melts. He didn't get any less attractive.
Now I'm seeing him in his home environment, I know exactly what color his eyes are.
They're the color of the sky over the canyon behind his house.
The precise shade of blue at the horizon's edge in the evening.
And his hair? It's the same color as the tufts on top of the long grasses lining the canyon walls.
If I hadn't already known he was a California boy, this would have sealed it.
He might be the son of two Ukrainians, but he's a perfect match for this environment.
His fingers squeeze my hand, and I realize we've been staring at each other for too long.
Gazing into each other's eyes like a pair of lovesick teenagers.
"Ready to go inside?" His voice is soft, not interrupting the moment, a gentle invitation.
I don't think he's propositioning me, but I don't think he would object, either.
"Yeah, sounds good. Let's go in." I try to smile back at him, but something in my mouth is off. A tremble, maybe. Stefan does strange things to my body.
At first glance, the inside of Stefan’s house is every bit as impressive as the outside promised, though, we’re interrupted the moment we walk through the front door. Two furry bundles streak across the hardwood to us, spinning around Stefan’s legs, purring when he leans down to pet them.
They’re huge. I knew cats could be big, but I've never met any this big. A good half of their size might be their coats, though, because they’re both covered in very long, very fluffy fur.
The one that sits down first, eyeing me suspiciously, is white, with bright blue eyes and some orange on its nose, ears, feet, and tail.
The other one, trying to climb into Stefan’s arms while he laughs at it, is the opposite.
Black, with white tuxedo markings and white paws.
He looks over the top of the black cat’s head, now secure in his arms, as big as his chest. “So did I mention I have cats?” Out of nowhere, he goes pale, eyes almost as wide as the blue ones still regarding me from the floor. “Fuck, are you allergic to cats? I should have asked.”
“Nope, and nope.” I lean in a bit, holding out my hand for the one in his arms experimentally. It sniffs my fingers, and when it doesn’t hiss at me, I slowly touch its head. I don’t know a lot about cats; my family has always had a dog and the barn cats aren't friendly. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He leans forward as well, giving me better access to the tuxedo cat. “This one is Georgia. She’s Tea,” he adds, motioning toward the statue on the floor. “They’re my babies.”
“Of course they are.” What is it about Stefan with a cat in his arms that makes my heart melt even more? The man should not be capable of being any more endearing, yet here we are.
After a tour of the first floor, we climb a set of stairs and Stefan leads me down another hall, the cats dogging our heels.
They’re tricky, slipping in front of my feet whenever I’m not paying attention, as if determined to make me trip over them.
It’s good Stefan won the fight over who got to pull my luggage, because it leaves me with more maneuverability whenever one of them dodges in front of me out of nowhere.
Stefan’s laughing, watching me as we move down the hall. After a few closed doors, he pulls up in front of what is clearly a guest room. The laughter fades and he looks at me through his lashes. How he manages it when we're basically the same height is a mystery. "This is you."
It's a beautiful room, on the side of the house overlooking the canyon. The walls are white, as are most of the walls in the house, and the furniture is some kind of red wood. Actual redwood, since we’re in California? I have no idea.
The wood, or stain, or whatever, matches the landscape as perfectly as Stefan does.
It's the same shade as the rocks in the canyon.
The sage colored linens blend into the bushes out the windows as well.
Did Stefan do the interior design himself?
If so, he's a man of many, unexpected talents.
The house is sparse, minimalist, but lovely.
"Thank you."
Stefan sets my bags down inside the door, then hovers, peeking over at me from time to time.
It’s the shyness I found in Frankfurt, making me desperate to take him in my arms and kiss him.
"The bathroom is right next door." He gestures to the door on our right.
"And I'm there." Another gesture, this time to the door ending the hallway to our left.
He’s blushing, and I’m not sure why, so I smile at him as reassuringly as I can. "This is great. Thanks."
A brief flash of a smile back at me. "It's just that..."
Spit it out, Stefan, you adorable man, you. He's blushing harder, and it sends him straight off the cuteness scale. How a man can simultaneously be my idol and the cutest thing I've ever seen, I have no idea. "That?"
He ducks his head, all but shuffling his feet. "If you wanted to stay with me..."
"I am staying with—" Oh. Oh crap. "You mean in your room?"
"You don't have to. Obviously. This is your room. I'm just—if you..."
Well, this is a twist I hadn't expected, but should have, especially after he held my hand outside. If I moved into his room, would it indicate something more serious than I’m interested in?
Than I assume he is interested in. Sharing a room, even if for only a few nights, when we're not forced into it... It's a choice.
A choice Stefan, king of the no-roommates policy, has made.
The idea of sharing space, a bed, with him sounds amazing, perfect, everything I could ever want. Stefan, right here for the taking, all night every night. All but handing himself to me on a silver platter, if the invitation is any indication.
But I need to be careful. He gets under my skin too easily.
That blush alone is enough to send me into very dangerous territory.
Stefan looks more vulnerable than I feel, so maybe I need to protect his heart as much as my own.
The longer I dwell over the best answer, the more uncomfortable he looks; I can’t think about it anymore without running the risk of hurting him.
"What if we play it by ear?" I ask. "Instead of deciding right now? "
Well, at least it’s an answer. Since his face clears back into my own personal smile, it must be an acceptable one. "That's a good idea."
"I have one, every once in a while."
In that moment, we're back on solid ground.
He nudges me in the ribs, a playful shove.
"I'm sure more than once in a while. Come on.
" Abandoning both the rooms and the discussion around them, he starts back down the hall toward the stairwell, then stops mid-stride.
"Wait. You want to shower and stuff, huh?
You should do that. I should let you do that. "
"Are you implying I stink?" I tease, keeping my face as solemn as I can manage.
He gives me a horrified look. "No, of course not! It's just that after I fly I always want to shower."
Should I feel bad for making him feel bad? Nah. He’s too cute when he’s flustered. "I'm kidding. A shower sounds great."
Stefan looks relieved. It's adorable. Yet another reason to keep flustering him. "I'll make dinner. Just come downstairs when you're ready."
"I can help."
"Nope." He gives me a decisive shake of the head. "You're my guest, so I will make your dinner."
"Fine, I’ll take a shower and come downstairs. Dinner had best be waiting and ready for me."
A sparkling grin. Good, he’s got me figured out now. Flustering him is one thing; being an ass is another. I’m glad he didn’t take it wrong. "Considering it takes you like three minutes to shower, I doubt that'll happen."
"Well, I'll take my time."
"Fine, I'll be downstairs. Enjoy your shower. Towels are in the bathroom."
I watch his retreating form for a moment. Have I seen him in casual daywear before today? I don’t think so; I’d have remembered that ass outlined by jeans. He's too appealing for words. "Stefan."
He turns, eyebrows raised in question, hair fluttering around him with the movement before settling against his neck. I want to move it out of the way, kiss everywhere it touched. "Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. I'm glad you're here." One last flicker of that special smile, and then he's gone.