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The food had yet to arrive, but all I could think was, “Check please!”
TWENTY-SIX
CHARLIE
Nerves fluttered in my stomach as we parked the car under Sebastian’s apartment building tower. He led me to the elevator bank and shot me a glance as we waited for it to show up, his hand sliding to my lower back. I loved the way he’d touched me all day, like he couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. It made me feel like this growing thread of attraction and admiration and whatever else it was I was feeling was reciprocated. It made me feel special.
“Feels weird being here,” he admitted.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I guess I’ve gotten used to that creaky old house.”
I rapped my knuckles on the concrete wall. “No chance of your upstairs neighbor falling through this baby.”
“Unfortunately.”
I laughed just as the doors slid open, and Sebastian gestured for me to precede him. He pressed the button for the twenty-first floor, the elevator smooth as it started moving. I swallowed thickly, wondering what I’d see on the other side.
Sleek modernism? A minimalist bachelor pad? A mattress on the floor?
Please, let him have a bedframe, at least, I thought. I was too old to get involved with a man who didn’t believe in basic furniture items. And after a day like today, there was no doubt in my mind that we were involved. How could we come together on the boutique hotel idea, do what we did in the Monticello last week, and then spend a perfect day in DC without admitting that what was between us was real?
“What’s that smile about?”
I slid my gaze over to meet his. “Do you own a bedframe?”
He gave me a look like he was Casanova and he knew it, which made me roll my eyes. Undeterred, Sebastian said, “That’s an interesting question.”
“It has nothing to do with sex.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m just trying to figure out if seeing your apartment is going to kill my attraction for you.”
“All it would take to do that is a bedframe?”
“Or lack thereof.”
He laughed, and the doors opened. His hand slid down my spine as we stepped out, sending little sparks of heat traveling through my middle.
I’d had such a perfect day. I’d been to DC once for a field trip, but it was different being here with Sebastian. He wasn’t impatient or bored when I nerded out about history. A few times, I’d stolen glances at him and seen him admiring some detailed cornice or marble step, and I wondered if he was seeing the place with new eyes. If the idea of saving part of the Monticello might have changed something more significant with him. With us.
It was unexpected. I’d spent the past month villainizing him, thinking he cared little for the past. But as we spent more time together, I realized he had layers. He’d been deeply affected by the house fire he’d endured and had little patience for unsafe, unrestored buildings. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care. When I’d proposed the boutique hotel idea, it was like a lightbulb went off above his head.
He wanted to save the Monticello.
Maybe… Maybe he’d change his mind about the house? Maybe when I made an offer, he’d be willing to sell it to me because he’d know that I would do all I could to restore it to its Second Empire glory.
His keys rattled as he took them out and slid one into his front door. Then the door opened, and I entered Sebastian Anderson’s domain.
My jaw dropped.
This was not the hard, masculine space I’d expected. The big open-plan room had a ton of natural wood accents, plants, and woven rugs. He didn’t have clutter, and his furniture was solid and weighty, but it was softened by a natural edge. His couch even had a throw blanket with little tassels on it. The artwork was contemporary and abstract, and it fit the space perfectly.
The kitchen was white with stone countertops, and the floor-to-ceiling windows were framed with sheer white curtains.
And the view. The view.
