6. Harper #4
“Holy shit,” I whisper as the house starts to make more sense.
This isn’t some old house with minor renovations.
This was a complete gut job with the exterior being allowed to remain innocuous to not draw attention.
Inside is a very different story. I park next to his Audi, noticing the nice motorcycle that’s parked in the corner as well as the elevator that’s directly to my left.
“Watson, please don’t shit on his fancy floors,” I quietly beg.
The look he gives me makes me feel guilty enough to hug him and whisper a quick apology.
“I just meant you might get confused. You’ve never been inside a place this nice or this big.
Don’t think less of our apartment after this.
A place filled with love is better than a giant castle without it. ”
He licks my cheek. I’m not sure if it’s a damn straight it is or a very sarcastic whatever helps you sleep at night.
“I’m going to assume you agree with me. I don’t care how comfy his couch is, Watson. Be strong.”
I don’t even get a lick for that comment, and when I open the door, he follows me out and then starts sniffing around.
I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t hike a leg on one of Ev’s nice tires, but he does me proud and keeps all four feet firmly on what has to be really expensive flooring.
I’m not sure what it is, but it’s able to withstand cars being parked on it and it still looks nice.
That kind of carefree upkeep always comes at a hefty price tag.
The cheap stuff will immediately let you know it needs a cleaning.
I’m very familiar with the cheap stuff, unfortunately.
“Do you have somewhere I can take him out?” I ask, knowing we’re on borrowed time.
“He can go out back,” Ev says. “Follow me.” He looks back for a second while he heads for the stairs to add, “I’m sure you can handle that, right?”
The slight smirk he gives is more of a teasing one this time, so I return it before following him up the flight of stairs with Watson right on my heels.
We step onto an open floor plan that’s nothing short of stunning.
It’s obviously top-of-the-line everything, but, again, it’s not the pretentious palace I envisioned this man living in.
My eyes run over the white countertops and island that could easily sit six people, noticing the lack of clutter.
My countertops are filled with shit, things I couldn’t fit in the cupboards, snacks I eat often enough to just leave out, a hanger that’s always showing off the brown bananas I keep forgetting to eat, and a stack of mail that I don’t feel like going through.
Ev’s place is pristine. Not so much in the way that makes me feel like he has a killer maid, but it’s more like it feels unlived in.
I scan the living room, trying to find a single personal item, but there’s nothing.
No photos on the shelves, no funky collection of magnets on the fridge, no cute knickknacks—there’s nothing that ties this place back to him, and when I look over at him, I can’t help but feel a deep sadness for him, because from where I’m standing his life seems very lonely, and that at least is something I can understand.
Instead of taking off his jacket and getting comfortable, he crosses the room and opens a set of French doors.
I cross the light hardwood flooring and step through them with Watson.
The yard is bigger than what you usually find in the city, and it’s surrounded by a tall brick wall that makes you feel completely hidden and cut off.
It’s nice, like a small oasis, and Ev’s house starts to make a little more sense.
“You really like your privacy,” I say while Watson runs off and relieves himself in the corner.
“I do,” Ev agrees, letting a small smile slip through when he watches my dog get a burst of energy and run around the yard.
It’s not big enough for him to really let loose, but there’s enough room to get a glimpse of how fast he’d be in an open field.
Despite his long, scrawny legs, Watson is a very graceful dog.
“The place where I adopted him has other dogs available,” I tell him.
“I work too many hours,” he says. “It wouldn’t be fair to the dog.”
“Maybe you could get a cat,” I suggest.
He looks down at the dark suit he’s wearing. “I’m not so sure clients would appreciate me showing up covered in cat hair.”
“You could get a really nice lint brush.”
He huffs out a breath. “Yeah, a little something I could do with all that free time I have.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you work too much?”
His eyes meet mine. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Maybe once or twice,” I admit.
“Yeah, me too.” He checks his watch and then pulls out his phone. “Do you like Greek food?”
“I love it.”
“Perfect. Make yourself at home. I’m going to place an order and get changed.”
He walks away before I can say anything, still trying to wrap my head around how in the hell I ended up here, standing in Ev’s home and about to share a meal with him.