Chapter 32

UNDER ONE ROOF

32

The first apartment the real-estate agent shows us is a total hovel. And I couldn't be happier.

The walls of the one-bedroom are yellowed with years of cigarette smoke, peeling and stained with marks that look suspiciously like mold. The floors are even worse. A patchwork of unidentifiable stains and worn spots marks the carpet, and the furniture looks like it was picked out of a dumpster. Over the small windows, the blinds are dusty and crooked, barely able to keep out the harsh sunlight.

And that's before the smell even hits us like a punch to the face, a mix of mildew and dirty laundry. The strong scent of industrial cleaners tries to mask the underlying odors but only adds to the sickening aroma.

The taste of dust fills my mouth as I breathe in the stale air.

There's no way Killian could live here. Guess I'll be stuck with him for a little longer.

I beam at the real-estate agent. "Absolutely not."

The next apartment is equally disappointing—yay—though in a very different way. It's clean, I'll give it that, but it might as well be a shoebox for all the space it offers. The kitchen—if you can even call it that—is shoved into what must've once been a closet, and the bathroom is separated by nothing more than a flimsy curtain that ripples every time the ancient heater system coughs to life. The bed is a fold-out couch with a thin mattress that takes up half the apartment, leaving little space for anything else. There's no room for more than one person to turn around, let alone live comfortably. It's like a claustrophobe's nightmare come to life.

Killian watches my reaction, his lips twitching. "Guess not."

"Well, you told me you were on a budget," the real-estate agent complains.

"How much is this place?" I ask.

"Eight hundred a month."

I look at Killian. "We can do better than that."

I hold off until we escape the dollhouse apartment before I address the agent. "Do you have any decent places to show us that don't smell, that have a bathroom with a door, and that don't require a contortionist to live in them?"

The real-estate agent pouts. "I might have something, but it's eleven hundred per month." He turns to Killian interrogatively.

"Yeah, I can manage that much."

We walk to the next location, a slick, modern building nestled between a quaint coffee shop with steam fogging its windows and a vintage-records shop. The entrance, flanked by welcoming potted plants, features wide, transparent glass doors that seem to invite visitors with open arms. As we enter, the airy lobby unfolds before us, its sleek furnishings and clean lines a refreshing change from the previous dingy settings we've encountered.

Killian's eyes roam over the high ceiling, the gleaming floors reflecting the light that cascades through an expansive skylight. "This is more like it," he mumbles, almost to himself.

The real-estate agent leads us to an elevator with mirrored walls, pushing the eighth-floor button.

I have a bad feeling about this place. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut? The real-estate agent would've kept showing us pigsties, and Killian would've had no other choice than to keep on living with me. I don't care what I said. Or that it'd be wiser for us to live apart. The idea of him moving out is gut-wrenching. It's like watching the last leaf fall from a tree, knowing that winter is coming and there's nothing I can do about it. A visceral, deep-seated fear clutches at my insides that if I let him go, he'll never want to come back.

There's still hope. Maybe the neighbors in this unit will be unbearably loud and we'll have to rule out this place, too.

But the neighbors are inaudible, and the apartment is, well, honestly, perfect. It's still small, but a small mansion compared to the matchbox one, and it's also clean and refurbished with all-white surfaces and cozy furniture.

My heart sinks.

"These windows are way too big," I offer tentatively. "All that natural light? It's going to be a nightmare trying to sleep past sunrise."

The real-estate agent rolls his eyes theatrically, while Killian shoves his hands in his pockets and tilts his head curiously, lips twitching. "And what do you think of the kitchen?"

"Well, it's a bit too… modern, don't you think? It'd feel like living inside a spaceship."

"Are you interested or not?" The agent chips in. "Because this place is going to go fast."

"I like it," Killian declares, cutting me a side stare. "Despite the too-bright windows and too-modern appliances."

He winks. I scowl.

It's like he's testing me.

"If you want it," the real-estate agent continues, "the deposit is the first and last month's rent plus an extra month for eventual damages to the property."

Eyes never leaving mine, Killian asks, "Mr. Gavino, could you give us a minute?"

"Sure, I'll wait downstairs."

The man leaves and Killian turns to me. "This place is cool, and it's not too far from yours."

It might as well be Australia. "Sure."

"If I have to move out, I'm taking it."

"If?"

With his hands still in his pockets, Killian studies me. "Do you want me to move out, Spoon?" When I hesitate, he adds, "Not what general dating wisdom suggests, or what you think you should be doing, just what you want. Do you want me to move out?"

I slowly shake my head.

"Good." He takes a step forward and I take one back. "What do you want?"

"Many things." Step forward. Step back.

"Like what?" Step forward. Step back.

The dance continues until I inexorably end with my back against a wall and Killian with the flat of his palms next to my face.

"I've asked you a question, Spoon."

Staring into his soulful gray eyes, I bare a little piece of my soul to him. "I want to wake up next to you every morning, and I want to be the reason you come home with that goofy grin on your face every night," I blurt out, my heart pounding like it's trying to break free.

Killian's eyes sparkle with mischief and something warmer, something that sends a thrill down my spine. "Is that so? Anything else?"

"I want to argue about silly things like how to properly squeeze the toothpaste tube and what brand of coffee to buy. I want to share inside jokes that no one else gets and smile like idiots when we remember them at inappropriate times."

He's so close now, his breath is warm against my cheek. My gaze drops to his mouth. "And if we're being completely honest, the thing I want the most right now is for you to kiss me."

That too-perfect mouth curls up in a wicked smile, and Killian uses his free hand to tilt my chin up. "Oh, Sugar, I wish we could. But we can't."

"W-why not?"

"Because if I kiss you now, I don't know if I can stop. And that real-estate agent downstairs is already going to be pissed enough we're blowing him off with the apartment, we don't want to cause a scandal as well."

"Then what's your next move, cowboy?" I ask, my voice quivering with anticipation.

"Taking you home and making sure we're not interrupted when we pick up where we left off here."