6. Astrid #3
I could imagine Declan’s reaction to the place almost instantly. I don’t think a space could be any more opposite to where he lives than this one, and it would surely guarantee he would never want to stay here.
Declan’s penthouse in Portland is all stainless steel, Marble, polished hardwood, and the color palette from the bedroom to the living room to his office to the kitchen is gray, black, and white.
There is almost no color, very few mementos, and no personality.
But I can’t really judge him.
I grew up in a home that’s very similar. My parents are all about appearance and opulence, and that always takes precedence over anything nostalgic or too expressive.
When I moved to Portland for rehab after my injury, everything was taken care of for me, from my trainers to the apartment I moved into. And the apartment was very similar to Declan's. It wasn’t on as high a floor or as large, but it was sleek and modern.
Of course, over the years, I've made it my own, with photos, books, and other things that matter to me, and added touches of who I am. But I have still never lived in a place as… colorful… as this house in Rebel.
Originally, I bought it to annoy my husband and to convince him we are a horrible mismatch.
But in the ten months that I’ve been here, I have found the house comforting.
The earthy colors and fun patterns have grown on me.
Now, when I walk into the house, I smile.
It’s quirky, over-the-top, and completely different from the world I came from.
It reminds me of the town outside the front door.
And I’m falling in love with it.
And I realized that I don’t really care what Declan thinks.
Oh sure, if it makes him run screaming back to Portland, great.
But he doesn’t have to like it. No one does.
Because I do.
Declan doesn’t say anything, and I finally turn and lead him out into the living room.
It’s not like I need to point out which appliance is the refrigerator, and if he needs a plate, he can open the cabinets and find one.
Besides, I intend to be up before him in the morning anyway to make my husband breakfast on his first morning in Rebel.
Declan thinks he’s going to have a relaxing week in Louisiana? Then he needs to taste the local cuisine. I’ve been wanting to try my hand at buttermilk biscuits and gravy.
I lead him through the living room and across the thick brown shag carpet.
The house isn’t big, so it’s easy for him to get his bearings as he takes in the green couch, yellow armchair, and coffee table in the wood-paneled front room.
The lamps sitting on the side tables are actually new additions.
I found a fantastic website that sells vintage seventies decor, and I have found several pieces for the house that fit right in while also letting me put my own touch on things.
We stop at the top of the staircase.
“There are two guestrooms. You can take your pick. The bigger one is the second on the right. It’s also closest to the bathroom. It should have everything you need. Linens are in the closet in the hall.”
He nods. “Is that the room Miles stays in when he’s here?”
“It is.”
I expect him to say that he’ll take the other room then. Instead, he says, “Great. You can now consider it my room.”
Oh, I definitely will. I have a sinking feeling that after even one day with Declan here, I won’t be able to think of any space in this house without remembering him.
But I’m not going to let on.
“If he left anything in the side table, feel free to use it. You’ll just have to replace it.”
I see the barest flicker in his eyes, and if I wasn’t looking for a reaction, I would’ve missed it. That poked him just a little.
“But Miles won’t be staying here anymore, right? He’ll be moving in across the street.”
I shrug. “We’ll probably still have sleepovers from time to time. We like to stay up really late watching movies.”
Declan’s eyes narrow. “And he can’t stumble his way across the street?”
“It would just be easier for him to stay. Especially if we’re going to have brunch in the morning. Or it might be raining or something.”
He steps closer, and I think that he’s going to touch me until Oscar hisses.
Declan stops and looks down at the cat, then back up at me. “Challenge accepted.”
My heart thumps, even though I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Challenge?”
“To be the best sleepover you’ve ever had.”
My entire body reacts to that. Of course, it does. I swear the man could sneeze, and I would get tingly.
Then, with that, he turns, twists the knob to the guestroom, steps inside, and closes the door between us.
No kiss. No lingering look or a wink. Not even one of those smirky half-smiles.
Which, of course, I should be happy about.
I am happy about those things.
Oscar gives me a soft, “Murr.”
I look down at him. “I am too. I don’t want him even looking at me and definitely not kissing me.”
Oscar hisses.
“Exactly. That’s better. We hiss at him.”
I turn and head for my bedroom. But, much to my chagrin, I do give his door a lingering look.
Dammit.