Chapter 11 #2
Titus’s brows lower, the right one struggling with the act a little more than the left. “You haven’t had any coffee.”
Fucking hell. I need to get my shit together. And I need to do it real freaking quickly, or—
The doorbell rings, and I almost snort. “Have you been online shopping again?”
He looks a little bashful when he gives me a single shoulder shrug. “I certainly haven’t been out in public shopping, so…”
I start to ask if he ever leaves the house—even though it’s really none of my business—but the doorbell rings again, cutting me off.
Which is probably for the best. I don’t really have the right to ask Titus any personal questions considering I’m withholding some pretty relevant personal information of my own.
He tips his head in the direction of the door. “Could you get that?”
I knew Titus’s scars were very likely the reason he didn’t want to meet me face-to-face, but it hadn’t registered until right now that he’d still prefer to stay hidden from everyone else.
It’s a vulnerability most men wouldn’t show, and it makes me feel protective of him.
Like I’m ready to do whatever it takes to keep the world at bay so he feels safe.
“Of course.” I duck out of the bathroom, doing my best to slide past him without accidentally brushing my body against his. Because if I’m not careful, I’m going to need to jump in one of the iced-over ponds on the property. “I’ll be right back.”
I hurry down the main hall and into the entryway, opening the door to greet the man standing on the stoop.
He looks at his clipboard, then leans to peer around me. “Where do you want this thing?”
“Umm.” Now it’s me leaning to peer around him. “What is it?”
The man frowns at me, looking real unimpressed that I don’t know what he’s brought. “A dining room table and chairs.”
“Really?” Even though I know he won’t be in view, I turn to look in the direction I last saw Titus.
Why in the world would he buy a dining room table and chairs?
“You got a room it needs to go in?” The deliveryman prompts me, trying to move this whole process along.
“Yeah.” I step back, making space for him to come inside. “Sorry.”
Thank goodness I cleaned out the dining room last week.
Otherwise, I don’t know where in the hell we would have put the behemoth of a table Titus ordered.
I watch as a trio of delivery men bring it in, being careful not to bump walls or door casings as they move the solid wood work of art into a room once occupied by a whole lot of dust and an equally shocking amount of cereal boxes.
Titus clearly bought his former favorite food in bulk.
I spent the better part of one afternoon carrying the overflow into the basement, lining it on one of many empty shelving units in the sectioned-off storage space.
It’d been a nice way to pass the time while I was wandering around the house all on my own, but I figured it was a primarily pointless pursuit.
Never did it occur to me that Titus would actually want to use the dining room for its intended purpose. I was just sick of looking at the shit.
Once the table and all sixteen chairs are in place, and the delivery men are gone, I stand in the doorway, trying to figure out where I’ve seen it before. It’s oddly familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on why.
“What do you think?”
My heart speeds at the closeness of Titus’s voice. I didn’t even hear him come up behind me, so there was no time to prepare myself or school my reaction. Hopefully I don’t look like a teenage girl in heat even though I’m pretty sure that’s what I am.
“I think I don’t know why you got a dining room table and chairs.” I risk a peek at him over one shoulder, my skin immediately going hot at how close his body is to mine. “Are you planning on hosting a dinner party?”
“I just thought it was time I actually got some furniture for this place.” His eyes hang on me a second before moving to the table. “I thought you might like having somewhere to eat besides the kitchen counter.”
My attention returns to the table. It’s somewhere all right. Somewhere a whole soccer team could eat. And then some.
I’m quickly learning Titus isn’t a man who does things halfway. I needed a few pots and pans, and he bought me every item Hex Clad makes. I wrote up a list of everything I would need to fully stock the kitchen, and he purchased it all in one go.
And the man sure doesn’t half-ass cake consumption.
Still, a table for sixteen seems like overkill when it’s just the two of us.
“A table in the breakfast room would’ve been a way easier route to accomplish that.” That space is smaller. A round table for four or six would have fit perfectly and suited our needs just fine.
Titus's penetrating gaze comes back to me and I could swear he looks a little smug when he says, “Then you’ll be happy to hear the breakfast room table is being delivered tomorrow.” He brings one hand to the small of my back, using it to turn me toward the kitchen. “Now come eat your breakfast.”