71. Hannah

SEVENTY-ONE

It's not mine.

This room isn't mine.

It's his.

But…

I take one step forward as my heart shimmies up my throat.

"Maddox." I take another step. "It's…"

"You like it?" His tone holds a hint of hesitation, and I need him to stop that. Right now.

"Maddox." I turn to face him. "This is fucking magical."

His face cracks into a wide smile. "So… you like it?"

"Don't be ridiculous." I turn back to take in the room. "This is my new favorite place on earth."

I'm not even joking.

I step farther into the room.

The walls, where you can see them, are painted a deep green. But there's not much of it to see.

The wall opposite the door is all windows. The sun has set, so the dark panes reflect the room back at me.

And goddamn, this room is what dreams are made of.

There's a large, deep cushioned couch covered in blankets and pillows. In front of it is a rustic coffee table covered in candles. They aren't lit, but there's a box of matches sitting next to one of them.

The wall behind the couch is books. Nothing but books. The shelves reach all the way to the ceiling, and every shelf is stuffed full of books.

I turn my head.

The wall opposite is the same, with a rectangle carved out in the center of the shelves, where a TV is mounted. But every free inch is filled with more books.

"Where did you get them all?" I don't bother keeping the awe out of my voice.

Maddox shrugs. "Here and there."

The movement reminds me that he's holding a tray of food, so I shuffle over and take a seat on the couch, nearly sighing because it's just as comfortable as it looks.

As Maddox sets the tray down on the coffee table, I put my drinks down beside it and then tip my head back.

Hanging from the ceiling are bulbs. They're like those Edison bulbs, only they're perfectly round.

"Maddox." I shake my head, still looking up. "How…"

I want to ask how he made this room so alive when the rest of his house is so… not. But I can't ask that.

And it's not like the rest of the house is bad. It's stunning. It's huge. It's nicely furnished and finished. It just doesn't have any personality. Not like this room.

Maddox shuts the door, sealing us into the wonderful space.

"I don't come in here as much as I should." He answers my unasked question. "But I saw a photo once in a magazine I picked up while passing through an airport." He looks around the room as he sits next to me. "It's not exactly the same as this, but it's close."

"It's beautiful." I cross my legs on the large cushion and place my hand on his knee. "Thank you for showing me."

Maddox turns toward me. "I don't want to rush you. Or push you into anything too quick."

"You're not," I tell him before he can talk himself into thinking I don't want these moments together.

He places his hand over mine on his knee. "I don't have many regrets in my life, but the lost time between us, that's the biggest one I have."

Tender emotions twist between my ribs. "It's not your fault. We both…" I trail off.

We both made mistakes. And we both can see it. But I don't want to go there, not now. Not when we're here now.

"Maybe." He squeezes my fingers. "But we were supposed to do this."

"Do what?"

Instead of answering, Maddox reaches for our pasta and hands one of the plates to me. Then he grabs a remote.

As I lean back into the couch, the opening credits of a movie start to play.

And when I recognize them. When I understand what movie it is… I can't stop the single tear from trailing down my cheek.

Maddox settles next to me. "I'd still like you to finish reading it to me."

I press my lips together and nod. "I'd like that too."

Together, eating a delicious dinner and sipping Maddox's own brand of whiskey, fifteen years later than we'd planned, we watch The Count of Monte Cristo.