Chapter 24
SUMMER
“Why don’t you have anything on your nightstands?
” The surfaces are too clean, sterile even.
I’m lying on my side facing the window, and my eyes are drawn away from the incredible view to the nightstand beside me.
Knowing there is a matching one on his side has me wondering where Daniel Sutton’s personality is found in this apartment.
“You don’t even have lamps on them. You have wall sconces. ”
“The horrors,” he deadpans. I almost thought he was asleep, but apparently, his humor is up and active.
“I do.” His tone is defensive as his arm tightens over me, dragging me into his fold.
Though I love lying in bed wrapped in his arms, he’s a hot box, so I’ve been slowly gravitating away to put some air between us. “There’s a phone charger and my phone.”
Sadly, I think he finds that funny.
I roll to my other side. I’ll never understand what I did right in this life to be the one lying next to him.
“There are no cookie crumbs, no journal, no random books that you’ve started but haven’t finished, no framed photos, no jewelry you forgot to take off before getting into bed.
There’s not even a glass of water, let alone a fancy French bottle of water, in your case. No lotion, and—”
“I get it. You don’t approve of my clutter-free apartment.”
“It’s beautiful, but your heart and soul live somewhere else.”
He kisses my shoulder twice before closing his eyes. “They’re right here. In my arms.” Snuggling against me, I watch the exhale that tells me sleep is upon him.
He needs rest. So do I, but I worry about the life he’s living in the city.
I shouldn’t. He’s a grown man and has lived like this his whole life.
But in Mountain Laurel Cove, he fits right in with the stuff that’s around, nosing through yearbooks on my shelf, and studying the detailed woodworking of the kitchen cabinets.
He’s never said a thing about clutter or looked bothered.
Caressing his cheek, I ask, “Do you feel at home here?”
He opens his eyes with a lazy smile forming. Tapping my heart, he says, “I feel at home here.” It’s a good answer. Charming, but I’m not convinced it’s the truth.
His phone buzzes like it has, off and on, for the past few hours. It woke me up earlier, and I’ve been awake ever since. Maybe it’s a sign to let this go. I’m still curious, though. “You’re not even tempted to check it?”
“Not really. I don’t care what they say about me in the media. But if you want to look, you can.”
“What if it’s your agent again?”
“More reason not to check. I’m firing him in the morning.” He sighs, but then leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Tonight, I want to sleep.”
Raising my free hand in surrender, I say, “Hint taken.”
I close my eyes, willing my turbocharged brain to relax and let me sleep. After a torturously long time of forcing my eyelids to stay closed, I pop open my eyes. “How are you going—”
“You didn’t even last ten seconds.”
“Really? Felt like ten minutes.”
Propping up on his elbow, Daniel brushes hair that’s escaped my scrunchie back from my face, and says, “You’re not going to sleep, are you?”
“Probably not. There are all these sounds outside, and I thought I heard someone slam a door shut in another apartment.”
“You didn’t. The floors have soundproofing, and the windows are the highest-grade thickness allowed in buildings that are also completely soundproof.”
My imagination got away from me. There’s nothing for my mind to focus on, so it made stuff up.
Everything around me is so unfamiliar except for Daniel.
But this is him in his world, not mine. “Maybe that’s the problem.
It’s too quiet. There’s no breeze through the leaves or water at the shore.
There’s not even a buzz from an adventurous bee who left the apiary to explore—”
“Summer.” Falling backward, he hits the mattress and his head lands on the pillow. “Ugh.” Shifting to look at me, he asks, “What do you need to sleep?”
“I don’t know.” I half shrug, blocked by the bedding. “Fresh air and—”
“Come on.” The covers are flipped off both of us in one swift motion, and his feet land on the floor like a man on a mission. I don’t move, a little worried that I’ve driven him to madness. Holding out his hand, he says, “Trust me.”
“Since you put it like that . . .” I take his hand and slip out of bed. He leads me into his closet and gives me a T-shirt he pulls from a hanger. I’m not sure what in the Christian Bale American Psycho he’s got going on in here, but tees should always be folded.
I slip it on over my head, and then the boxers that he handed me right after, while he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. Okay, I’m softening to this idea he has if I get to ogle him in sweatpants that highlight all the good stuff that’s under them.
“Where are we going?”
“You either trust me or don’t.”
“You’re so bossy when you’re tired.” Realizing that shouldn’t stir a tightening in my belly, but here we are. I’m blaming the sweatpants.
Taking hold of my hand again, he has quite the clip of a pace for someone who claims they’re so tired. Sure, it’s 3 a.m., but who walks this fast? New Yorkers. I rest my own case.
“I never gave you the tour.” Oh. Okay. It’s as good a time as any, I suppose . . . I will never figure this man out. He taps the door across the hall. “This is Roman’s room.”
As we hurry past it, I say, “Guess I can actually see it in the morning. Don’t let me stop you.”
Pulling me behind him, he points at the next door. “Guest room. There’s a bathroom in each bedroom.”
“My sisters would kill for my room. Simply for the en suite bathroom. I used to lie awake at night, wondering which one was going to do me in so they could steal my bedroom after the funeral.”
I run into the back of him when he stops abruptly. Peeling myself off, I ask, “What happened?”
He turns around and stares at me like he can’t make sense of my face. I’m checking if the shape of my nose is still the same when he asks, “Are you serious?”
“About what?”
“Your sisters possibly killing you for your room because it has a bathroom?”
My laughter spills through the hallway, leaving my shoulders rattling under the pressure.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not.” Then Spring comes to mind .
. . I laugh again. “Though the youngest is awfully talented with a chainsaw. Spring won the ice sculpting contest at the holiday fair two years ago. She was the youngest contestant to ever enter and to win.”
“What did she carve?”
“Our old neighbor Bill—”
“I can’t with you, can I?” He’s off again, dragging me along with him like a bee has gotten in his bonnet.
“Well,” I say, bobbing my head side to side. “In Spring’s defense, and to be fair, that neighbor was quite the jerk. He used to drag me around by the hand a lot like you are now.”
Coming to another stop, he ruins any kind of gravity he was striving for with his chuckles, and he scrubs his free hand over his face. Standing in front of me, he huffs with a big old smile on his face before cupping mine and kissing me. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Yes.”
Lifting onto my toes, I kiss him quick like I’m getting away with a stolen piece of candy from a shop. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His token phrase is back in action, I hear.
Batting my lashes, I add, “And because curious minds want to know, the winning ice sculpture was a hagfish.”
“I’m not sure I was that curious.”
“It really just looked like a penis. The judges were all women, though, that year, and agreed it was a fantastic likeness.”
His expression scrunches his nose almost to his forehead. “To a hagfish or a penis?”
“Both.”
Pulling us forward, he grumbles under his breath, “Just leave it next time, Mav.”
I skip ahead to catch up, wondering where the tour is stopping next. “You call yourself Mav?”
“Huh?” He stops with his hand on the knob of a closed door off the entry.
Standing with the tip of my big toes pressed to his, I say, “You said, and I quote, ‘Just leave it next time, Mav.’ You called yourself Mav.”
“You don’t talk to yourself?” He scratches the back of his head. Maybe this conversation is a little much for the time of day.
“All the time, but I use Summer or Sum.”
“Well, mine is Daniel or Mav. Same thing.” Not really, but I’m thinking this isn’t worth the tit for tat. Reaching up, he slides his fingers along the doorframe and pulls a key down. “Safety measures with Roman around.” He unlocks the door and guides me in before him.
I scramble to turn around, grabbing onto the drawstring of his pants.
I’m a terrible person for thinking there’s a chance he’s locking me in here for the night, right?
Yes, Summer. I shouldn’t have let American Psycho enter my psyche.
Now I’m all twisted with mistrust, which is misplaced in Daniel’s case.
He’s been inside me. Trust has been established.
As if everything else was left in the entry, he smiles like he did earlier when he first woke—correction . . . when I woke him up. Sweet and sleepy at the same time. “Turn around,” he whispers.
His arms come around me when I do, holding me to his chest as if I’m precious to him. Moonlight shines inside, lighting up the room. “This is my office. Sometimes I need fresh air, too.”
I grin. It feels like we took the scenic route, but we got here in the end.
He was listening. The room is larger than I would have expected for a home office and bigger than our family room at home.
Creamy fabric-covered couch that looks like the perfect spot to take an afternoon nap.
If it’s raining outside, even better. The desk is modern wood and so large that visions of getting naughty come to mind.
Paintings hang above the couch and are opposite a fireplace. So cozy.
But it’s the large patio that has me standing in awe. Words won’t do the beating of my heart justice.