Page 113 of Challenge Me

“That’s called rosewater, and I think it smells nice.”

“If I bring it to Remi’s, people will think I’m selling moonshine under the table.” He looked at the original brick fireplace and the heavy drapes that covered the sliding door. Turning in a circle, his eyes went to the too-narrow doorways that led to the dining room and hallway. “When was this built?”

I leaned against the wall with my arms crossed. “1926.”

He tapped his foot a couple of times. “Original floors?”

“Obviously.”

Moving into the kitchen, he nodded appreciatively. “Cabinets?”

“Refinished. They’re staying until they fall apart.”

“Crown moldings?”

“Came with the house.”

“There’s gotta be a tree in the backyard.”

“Oak.”

“Gods, please tell me there’s a tire swing.”

“Added by yours truly.”

He broke into a smile. “Still counts. I have a very important question for you.”

“Shoot.” I immediately regretted my words when I remembered watching him stuff his gun into his bag when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

“Do you want to marry me, and are you open to the idea of leaving out the prenup?”

It was impossible not to laugh. “You’ve without a doubt known my net worth since before we got on that plane, but it’s the house that does it for you?”

“Money has no intrinsic value, at least since 1971—”

“More like 1933,” I corrected.

“Make it 1913.”

“Oh, I like you.”

His smile widened. “A house like this one is something I’d kill for. Most people flip them and turn everything grey, take out the walls to make it open-concept, and add a freaking barn door. It’s nauseating.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I mean, the old lady décor is a bit much.” He reached up to touch the ruffled valance on the window above the sink. “But at least it’s got character.”

“I’d say it’s better than sleeping on a cot in a bar. Where were you even showering?”

Grabbing an apple from the counter, he took a bite. He gestured with it as he chewed slowly. “There’s a gym right down the road. It’s good motivation to go. But if you want the super honest answer, that dish sprayer works perfectly well, and there’s a drain in the floor, so”—he shrugged—”DIY shower.”

“That has to be against some health code.”

“You gonna rat me out, baby?”

I put my hands on the counter beside him. When I flicked his lip with my tongue, the sweet taste of the apple made me lean in for more.

“I’d never rat you out,” I murmured. “Hell, I might even help you hide a body.”