8. Astrid #3
He nods, chewing on a strawberry. “I think I didn’t realize how boring it was. It was just background noise.” He looks up at me. “You didn’t have color like this in the places you lived, either.”
I shake my head. “No. I didn’t. I honestly didn’t know this kind of interior decorating still existed.
I’ve maybe seen it in movies or on TV. Maybe in a passing magazine or something online.
But I never actually thought that there would be entire rooms, not to mention a whole house, decorated like this. ”
He nods, looking amused and strangely pleased. “So when you saw it, did you just fall in love and had to have it?”
“Why would you think that?” I ask. Does he know me? Does he have some kind of insight? Because, while I did not buy this house because I fell instantly in love, I do very much like how it is decorated now. Being inside this space makes me happy.
“It’s small and old,” he points out. “You could’ve bought anything or built something. There must be a reason that you chose this.”
Should I admit that I did it to be as different from his space as I could?
“I love it more now than I did at the beginning,” I say honestly.
“I can tell you like the space.”
“How?”
He points at my refrigerator with his fork.
“The appliances are all new. But they’re in the style of the seventies.
So you had to seek them out. And I assume pay a lot extra for them.
” He points at the floor. “This flooring is all new. I assume they had to do something with the subfloor as well. The carpet in the living room is new, but also in the same style. The armchair out there is also new, which means you had to find a place that could match the theme. Not only did you stick with the seventies decor, but you had to actually search for these pieces.”
He’s exactly right, and of course, I should’ve known he would realize which things were new.
“I bought it because I needed a place and I liked the location and backyard, but I kept the décor because it was so different from what I was used to,” I say, giving him most of the truth.
He nods. “Going with totally different seems to be working for you. The hockey team. Ducks in your backyard.”
I wonder if he thinks he’s totally different than my usual, or if he’s more like my usual.
I’d love to ask him.
I’ve typically gone for guys who let me always take the lead, let me call the shots, let me have my way.
Declan has been that so far. He’s let me spend his money. He’s ‘let me’ move across the country. He’s not pushed me for anything at all.
But I’ve found those men easy to walk away from. Or to push away.
I’ve been puzzled by him, though.
He initially pushed for the marriage. He pushed for us to do what his grandfather demanded. He pushes everyone else around him. He demands. He bosses. He takes charge with everyone else. All the time
He hasn’t with me. I’ve been… disappointed by that.
I didn’t realize it at first. At first, it was exactly what I wanted. And it’s what I should still want. But when I’m being totally honest with myself, I do wish he was more…interested in me and what I’ve been doing.
Why do I want more attention from Declan?
Why am I always feeling this push-pull between wanting him to leave me alone and wanting him to pursue me?
Because he’s strong and confident and makes difficult but right decisions all the time, and deep down, you want him on your side. For everything. Because you think he could be the one to help you through all the challenges.
But that’s also intimidating.
And also you’re in love with him.
I clear my throat. “I am really happy here,” I admit.
He actually looks pleased when he gives me a big smile. “I am very glad to hear that.”
Then he takes a bite of his biscuits and gravy. And because I’m watching him carefully for his reaction, he cannot hide the grimace.
I, however, hide my triumph and grin.
He coughs and reaches for the bottle of water he carried in with him. He clears his throat after swallowing several drinks of water. “So what’s on your agenda for today?”
The biscuits turned out fine, but the sausage gravy is terrible. There is absolutely no salt or other seasoning except for copious amounts of black pepper.
I stroke my hand over Oscar’s head. “Oh, I have a really busy day. Several meetings.”
“Can I take you to lunch?” he asks. “At the café?” He’s eyeing his plate as he says it.
I smirk.
“I could make us lunch here,” I say. I have no intention of making us lunch here.
“No, please let me take you out,” he says quickly.
I manage not to laugh. “Well, that might work. I’ll have to let you know what time, though. My meetings are a little up in the air.”
Mostly because I don’t have any set meetings. But I intend to stay very busy and where he can't spend time with me.
“If it’s team stuff, I’d love to come along,” he says. “After all, the more time we spend together, the better.”
There’s a knock on the back door just as he says that, and I look over to see Wilson, one of my neighbors, standing on the back porch.
Right on time.
I cross the kitchen to the door. “Oh, no, you’re actually going to be busy this morning.”
“I am?” he asks.
I open the door and gesture for Wilson to come in. “Good morning,” I greet. “Would you like some breakfast?”
I already warned Wilson to eat before he came over because he would not want what I’m going to offer him.
The older man is dressed in his typical fashion in a pair of leather loafers, linen slacks, a button-down shirt, and a vest. He removes the bowler hat, revealing the entirely bald head underneath.
He hooks the hat over the back of one of the chairs.
“Oh no, I already ate. But thank you, darling.” He leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek.
“Great. Well, I need to get going. Wilson, have you met Declan?”
“I have.” Wilson extends his hand to Declan.
Declan rises, taking Wilson’s hand and shaking it. “Good to see you again, Wilson.”
“You, too. Nice to see you inside the house. And this is a great way for us to get to know each other.”
I hide my smile as Declan tries, and fails, to hide his confusion.
“Okay, then, I’ll let the two of you get to work,” I say, lifting Oscar out of the sling. He gives a discontented grunt, but when I set him on the table—yes, the table, right near Declan’s plate of food—Wilson strokes his head.
“Hey, big boy,” Wilson croons to the cat.
Oscar nudges Wilson’s hand and starts purring, and I let myself out the back door, leaving Wilson to explain the morning ahead to Declan.