90. Natalie

Chapter 90

Natalie

I blink.

Then I blink again. Because Luke’s condo is nothing short of stunning.

It’s all blacks and woodgrains, with exposed ductwork and raw brick on the outer walls.

The feel is dark and a little edgy but also extremely cozy.

I can imagine curling up on the giant couch with a storm raging outside the black-framed windows and the Edison bulb chandeliers on low.

Iron and raw-wood shelves are built into the walls, covered with well-cared-for potted plants. And the shelves turn into a well-stocked bar situated in the space between the living area and the airy kitchen.

The whole place almost has a speakeasy feel to it. And I love it.

“Do you⁠—”

“I love it.” I cut Luke off, saying exactly what I’m thinking.

“Yeah?”

Hope tints his voice, so I turn to face him. “Luke, it’s beautiful. Like…” I shake my head. “Like really beautiful.”

His smile is slow. “Thanks, Princess. I’m glad you like it.”

My feet throb, reminding me I need to get off them.

I toe my shoes off. “I hope you know I’m going to dig through all the cupboards tomorrow.”

Luke grins at me. “I’d expect nothing less.” He sees my wince when I set my bare foot on the ground and takes my hand. He leads me past the kitchen and down a hallway, leaving my luggage behind. “You can wear some of my clothes to bed.”

“I… Okay.” I accept because I don’t want to dig through my suitcases right now.

He loosens his grip and slides his hand up my arm to my back.

When we step into his room, I have to bite my lip to keep my smile in check.

“I know it’s a little messy.” Luke reaches up with his other hand to rub at the back of his neck.

The room is just as stunning as the rest of the condo.

Tall ceilings painted black. Bulbs hanging down on thick cords. Built-in shelving. And clothes.

Clothes strewn across the floor.

A hoodie on the unmade bed, blending in with the black bedding.

And an overstuffed leather armchair in the corner piled high with discarded clothes.

Luke looks down at me.

I look up at him.

“So… no closets in this place?” I ask, finally letting my smile break through.

The edge of his mouth pulls up. “I just really hate laundry.”

“And yet, you surround yourself with so much of it.”

He snorts. “I know. It’s an illness.”

Luke steps away from me, stopping before the armchair and digging through the pile.

He turns back to me with a T-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. “These are clean.”

“If you say so.” I take his offered clothing, then head into the attached bath.