Fourteen
Winter
Saint still hasn’t told me where we’re going, but I’m starting to think he’s finally lost his mind.
He took me out to his truck and started driving.
We don’t go far, so within a few minutes, he stops in front of a two-story Tudor-style house.
It’s a cute place. The wood on the exterior is a sage green rather than the ugly brown you usually see with Tudor homes, and the door has stonework surrounding it.
There aren’t any cars in the drive, and there’s no lawn decor. I have no idea whose house this is.
Without another word, Saint hops out and rounds the car. When he gets to my side, he opens the door before I get the chance and walks me up the walkway to the large front porch.
I expect him to stop at the door and knock, but instead, he places his thumb on the digital keypad, and when it beeps, he enters the house.
This whole thing is confusing, but he doesn’t leave room for me to protest as he ushers me inside.
Once we enter, I can’t help the way my mouth hangs open. There’s so much light that it almost feels like we aren’t inside a house.
The space is truly spectacular. All the rooms I can see from the entryway are a variety of green shades, but the color doesn’t feel overwhelming. There are also a ton of plants set up; they all look healthy and thriving.
The weird thing is that while there are tons of plants, there doesn’t appear to be any furniture. It makes me wonder if anyone lives here or if it’s staged for sale, but if that’s the case, how does Saint have access to it?
Saint stands next to me while I take it all in. When I finally stop surveying our surroundings and return my gaze, he’s wringing his hands.
“What do you think of the house?” he asks me.
“It’s great! Truly a beautiful place. I’m jealous of whoever lives here.
” I give him a dubious look. “Who lives here? How do you have access to it? We aren’t breaking in, are we?
Because if I find out you’re setting me up only for you to call the police on me—” I don’t get to finish the threat because he covers my mouth with his hand, cutting me off.
“Too much, Winnie.” Amusement dances in his eyes. “I’m not trying to get you arrested. And before I tell you whose house it is, I need you to promise no bodily harm will come to me.”
I narrow my eyes in his direction. “That seems like a steep promise to make. What if I don’t like what you say?”
He chuckles despite himself. His face lights up as his lips twitch. I’ve never seen him look as handsome as he does now. Happy looks good on him.
“Fine, hit me if you must. Fair warning, though, I might be able to outrun you.”
“Yeah, right.” I cross my arms. “We both know who won last time we were in a race together.”
“Hey, that’s not a fair comparison. We were fourteen and you tripped me,” he points out.
The memories flash through my mind like a movie. He’s right, I did trip him. I can’t hold back a grin, and we both start laughing at our younger selves’ antics.
“So… who lives here?” I ask, trying to get back on topic.
“Well…” He hesitates. “It’s my place. I just haven’t moved in yet.”
“Why the hell not? This place is gorgeous. Way better than being cramped in with my smelly brothers at my parents’ house.”
He sighs so deeply it makes it seem like his soul is weary.
“At first, I did need a place to stay while the crew I hired did some repairs. I got a good deal when I bought it because it needed some work. I used some of the money my mom left me to pay for the repairs. When I told your mom I was looking for somewhere to stay in the meantime, she insisted I stay with them. I told her it would only be until the new year. But things moved faster than the crew said. It got done early.”
“How early?” I question.
He tucks his hands in his pockets when he realizes I’m watching him fidget. “They finished a few weeks ago.”
I gasp.
“Why didn’t you move in then?”
Sadness clouds his features. “I forgot what it was like—having other people around and being part of a family. I had missed it. I enjoyed being around everyone. I was finally going to say something, and then you showed up. That changed my mind.”
My brows furrow. “Why would it matter that I was back?”
“Needing a place to stay gave me a reason to be around you,” he admits. He steps closer to me, only stopping when we’re face-to-face, barely an inch between us. “And I desperately wanted a reason to be around you.”
His lips crush to mine. The kiss is different from what I’ve imagined in the past. In my recent imaginings, I pictured Saint kissing me in a gentle, sweet way.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
His lips are pressed firmly to mine. His hand comes up and threads in strands of my hair.
The heat and passion are so unexpected that it takes me off guard for a second before I kiss him back just as thoroughly.