The driveway was a project I’d meaning to get around to for a couple years, but never quite did—it was the last thing in the exterior that I hadn’t updated yet, and was old, cracked, and crappy. Detached garage, also updated to match the rest of the house, with a lovely new wooden fence and gate.
He huffed in amusement. “Yeah, no, this is not what I expected when I thought, I wonder where Laurel lives, you know?”
I laughed. “I know, nobody does. But I grew up in a huge fancy Bel-Air mansion with eight rooms and ten bathrooms and a pool house and just about everything you could imagine. And weird I know it may be, but I just was always curious about neighborhoods like this. I was always drawn to cute little houses like this. And when I first started selling real estate with Lizzy and Kat, we were the new girls on the block with our own brand-new brokerage and we built our brand selling places just like this. Eventually we moved up in the world, started selling more and more expensive places, and for a long time I did live in a condo exactly like you’re probably imagining. But I found this place once—listed it, as a matter of fact because I just loved the bones of it, and felt like it was just so cute, had so much potential. And Lizzy was like, if you love it so much, buy it yourself. I’d been complaining about my condo, anyway. Like, no yard, no privacy, no solitude. City living was wearing on me. So I did. I bought it, and I fixed it up.” I hopped out of the car and headed for the side kitchen door that was my usual entrance, unlocked it, and led Titus inside. “And if you want to be really surprised, listen to this: I did probably eighty percent of the renovation in here myself. I myself knocked down the wall between kitchen and living room—upon the advice and guidance of a professional contractor, of course. And I myself demo’d the whole kitchen, all the floors, and both bathrooms. I myself combined the master bedroom with the formerly unattached bathroom to create an en suite master. I installed all the floors. I put up the drywall. I mudded and sanded and painted. I had the cabinets and counters installed because, frankly, I was simply not strong enough.”
Titus looked around at my kitchen. White cabinets with brushed nickel pulls and matching faucet, top-of-the-line stainless steel GE Profile appliances, a dark navy island, and pale gray quartz counters with nice touches of gentle, subtle movement. Flooring was vinyl, sturdy and wide plank, made to look like wood but a fraction of the price, in alternating light and dark shades to complement the counters. The whole effect was a kitchen that was clean, simple, comfortable, balanced, and timeless. I was very proud of it; I’d also been careful to not spend so much that I’d never get the cost back in resale value. The flooring was carried through the house, with antique, handwoven rugs under the dining room table, the couch in the living room, and in each of the bedrooms. The theme of gentle, timeless, monochromatic base colors with pops of color for accent carried through to the rest of the house as well.
Titus took it all in. “You did all this?”
I nodded, pleased and flattered at the fact that he was obviously impressed. “Damn, girl. You got skills.”
I shrugged. “I’ve been around enough renovations professionally that I had an idea how things worked, and I knew I could do most of it. And I always had my friend Mark in my back pocket—he’s my go-to contractor that I refer clients to, and if I was stuck or wasn’t sure what to do or how to do it, I’d call Mark, and he’d walk me through it without mansplaining or taking over. I’m very proud of my home, but I understand why you’d think it’s not what you expected from me.”
“No, it’s beautiful. For real. Comfortable. Feel silly using this word, but it’s…cozy.”
I laughed. “Oh, you’re too macho and cool for something to be cozy?”
He snorted. “Yes. I’m Titus fucking Bright—I don’t do cozy.” He laughed. “It’s honestly not that. Or maybe it is. But I grew up in a shithole, and then went from that to a P-O-S, rusty as fuck, twenty-year-old Econoline work van, and then tour busses and hotels, and then finally the rig I got now.” A shrug. “I dropped out of school and left home at sixteen, and I’ve never had a home that wasn’t on wheels since.”
“You dropped out of high school?”
He nodded. “Yup. Finished ninth grade and we dropped out to play full-time halfway through our sophomore year.”
“Wow.”
He grinned. “And then there’s you, miss I went to USC.”
I rolled my eyes. “UC Berkeley, actually.”
“Nice.” A pause. “So. Can I see your room?” Titus murmured.
I swallowed hard. Nerves rifled through me. “Uh, sure.”
I led Titus Bright to my bedroom, my sanctum sanctorum. No one saw my room. No one—certainly no male.
So…why was I leading him to my bedroom? Why was I allowing this man to see this part of me, this private, vulnerable side of me?
I really, really hoped I wasn’t going to regret letting Titus see this part of me.
7
King bed, pale lavender fleece quilt, fluffy white pillows, white walls with abstract black-and-white photography, another of my antique hand-woven rugs. Part of the reason I’d chosen this house was that the master bedroom featured a closet that was abnormally massive for the style and age of the house.
He paused to look at a photograph on the wall—an aged, cracked wooden pier pylon up close, framed so it was hard to tell what it was. “Who took this?” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “If you say you, I’m gonna have an existential crisis.”
“Why?”
“Because no one should look the way you do, be as successful as you are, as cool and down to earth and funny, as sexy, and be able to renovate a house on your own, and be a talented photographer.”
“It’s a hobby,” I said, shrugging. “I think Lizzy is the only one who even knows I do photography.”
He sighed, sounding actually annoyed. “So you did do the photography in here?”
“Guilty as charged. I discovered it in college. My friend had this old black-and-white antique camera, and I was messing around with it, and he later developed the roll I’d been screwing around with, and was like, girl, you’re really good. You should keep doing this. So I did. I got myself a camera and once in a while when the mood strikes, I’ll go bum around downtown or something and shoot a few rolls. I have fun with it, but it’s not something I’d quit my day job for.”
He examined the other pieces on my walls. “I dunno, this shit is pretty legit. I’d buy it.”
“It’s legit, huh?”
He nodded. “Legit.” He turned in place. Swaggered toward me—prowled, really. “You are somethin’ else, Laurel McGillis.”
I was nervous—why was I nervous? I’d already fucked him. I knew it’d be good.
Too good, and maybe that was why.
Either way, my knees shook. My hands shook. My mouth was dry. My heart was thumping. I had to swallow a dozen times, and still couldn’t make my throat any less clogged.
“Something else, huh?” I echoed, inanely.
He took my hips in his hands and tugged me to himself, slowly and inexorably. And I went, blinking up at him.