Chapter 12
I stand in the living room of our new home and take in my surroundings, barely able to comprehend that this is actually happening. That we are really going to live here.
It’s Saturday morning, and a long day of moving in stretches ahead of us. Even though we have the whole weekend, I really want to sleep here tonight. I appreciate that my parents have been letting us stay at their house, but I’m ready for some alone time.
Sam must be thinking the same thing, because he turns to me, hands pushed deep into his pockets, and says, “Ready to get this done before we end up back in your childhood bedroom for another night?”
So that is exactly what we do.
When we first arrived, we were met by the doorman, an older gentleman named Angelo with a shock of thick silver hair.
He greeted us with a smile and a housewarming hamper, courtesy of Catherine and the Glendale’s board.
He also offered us a luggage cart, which we gratefully accepted.
We don’t have much heavy furniture, but I was already exhausted just thinking about carrying everything up to the fourth floor by hand.
We bring the first load up in the fantastically retro birdcage elevator and wheel it to the apartment.
That’s when we hit a snag. The cart is heavy, weighed down with boxes so high that we can barely see past them, and when we roll it into the apartment, the wheels catch on the thick orange-and-black wool rug in the foyer and refuse to move another inch.
Sam backpedals, dragging the cart away from the offending rug. “Probably should have moved this first.”
He’s not wrong. Even if the cart had traversed the rug with ease, the wheels might have damaged it. I join him at one end of the rug, and together we roll it up and push it aside.
That’s when we see it. A large, uneven dark-brown stain in the middle of the floor, marring the otherwise gorgeous light oak planks.
I stare at it. “No wonder they put a rug here.”
Sam nods in agreement. “I bet that stain has soaked all the way down into the grain. Practically impossible to get rid of without replacing the boards.”
“I wonder what it is?”
Sam shrugs. “Who knows? The building’s been here a long time. Looks like someone spilled something. Maybe old varnish, or paint?”
“Well, whatever it is, the rug is going right back over it once we’re done,” I say, grabbing the cart again and wheeling it past the rolled-up rug. “I don’t want that to be the first thing everyone sees when they come here.”
“Agreed.” Sam pushes the cart forward. “Let’s hope we don’t find any more nasty surprises waiting for us.”
“Even if we do, how bad could they be?” I ask. “This place is unadulterated luxury compared to all our other apartments.”
“We’re living the dream,” Sam replies, flashing a grin as he steers the cart into the living room and brings it to a halt.
He grabs a box marked Bedroom and sets off with it in his arms. I head in the other direction with one marked Dining room.
Once the cart is empty, we wheel it down to my dad’s car, which we’ve borrowed for the day, and head back to my parents’ garage for more stuff.
We do this five more times, driving back and forth through the clogged Boston traffic.
On the last load, my dad drops us off, saving us the trouble of driving his car back to Newton and taking the T home.
Thank goodness for that. I carry the last box into the bedroom, then retreat to the living room.
Exhausted, I flop down on the sofa. It’s now seven o’clock at night, and we have so much left to do.
But after a brief discussion, we decide that all but the essentials can wait until morning.
One of those essentials, Sam declares, is a celebratory bottle of wine, which he grabs from the welcome hamper.
We spend the next couple of hours sipping prosecco and basking in the beautiful silence and understated opulence of our new swanky digs.
At nine thirty, I declare that I’m done, and we make our way to the bedroom.
He comes up behind me, slips an arm around my waist, cups my breast, and nuzzles my neck.
But the gesture is halfhearted. I can tell that he’s dead on his feet.
“Maybe we christen the place tomorrow night?” I suggest, twisting around and giving him a quick kiss.
Uncharacteristically, Sam looks relieved. “Tomorrow night.”
With that settled, we undress, make up the bed, and climb between the sheets.
The mattress is even more comfortable than I expected.
We’ve barely turned out the lights before I’m fast asleep.
As I drift off, a warm and fuzzy thought rolls through my head.
That this is it. We’re finally where we should be, and from now on, our lives are going to be different.
We spend most of Sunday settling in and putting stuff away.
My parents insist on helping, and I don’t argue, because we have so much to do.
For once, my mother doesn’t complain about my living arrangements.
In fact, she gushes about the doorman and how we are in a nice area of town.
She can now rest easy knowing we won’t be murdered in our sleep, she informs us a little too dramatically.
In the afternoon, Sam and my dad drive back over to my parents’ house to get an antique desk that my father is gifting me for my new office, which we’re going to set up in the spare bedroom.
While they’re gone, Mom and I unpack the last of the linens, then give the main bath a good scrub-down, even though it already looks pristine.
After that, we retreat to the living room and have already poured ourselves glasses of well-deserved wine when the men reappear, puffing and panting, and carrying the desk between them.
Fifteen minutes later, after the desk has been installed in its new home, Sam orders pizza. It’s ten o’clock by the time my parents leave, and we decide to get an early night. I rinse the glasses and leave them drying next to the sink; then we make our way to the bedroom.
This time, when Sam slips his arms around me, I can tell that he’s up for it.
He undresses me slowly, savoring every moment.
First, my top. I raise my arms, and he slides it over my head and frees it.
My jeans are next. I discard them and stand before him in nothing but a lacy white bra and panties.
When he reaches for me again, I step back, running a finger up and under my bra strap.
Sam’s breath quickens.
I smile. “Not yet. Your turn.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. His clothes come off so quick it makes my head spin.
There is no teasing. No seduction. Frantic would be a better word.
One moment he’s dressed; the next, he isn’t.
He stands there, arms at his sides, without an ounce of self-consciousness.
I take in his body, his obvious desire, and a faint heat touches my cheeks.
Sam has always kept himself in shape. He has a flat stomach, muscular arms, and solid legs, despite spending most of his day behind a desk.
I lift my gaze. We make eye contact. I shiver, even though the room isn’t cold.
Sam steps toward me.
I retreat again, a subtle tease, until the backs of my legs bump into the bed.
“Jordan.” Sam’s voice is husky. Low. Desperate.
I’ve toyed with him enough. My hands go to the clasp of my bra. A quick twist and it comes free. I hold the bra against my chest for a moment longer, then drop my arms and let it fall to the floor.
Sam draws in another quick breath.
My nipples grow hard. The heat spreads from my cheeks, moving lower.
I slip my fingers under the waistband of my panties and slide them down.
The air-conditioning kicks on, sending a shaft of chilly air down from the ceiling vent and raising goose bumps on my naked flesh. Or maybe it isn’t the AC.
“Jordan,” Sam repeats, his eyes traveling the length of my body.
I step forward, take his hand, pull him toward the bed. We sink down together. He kisses my lips, my neck, goes lower. His mouth circles a nipple. I arch my back and gasp. His fingers brush the side of my breast, roam across my ribs to my belly, meander between my legs.
That’s all it takes. I clutch at his hips and pull him down on top of me, let him inside. After that, it’s all a magnificent blur.