And my living room, with its streamlined, comfy beige twill couch and accompanying shocking-orange, fly-wing chairs atop a muted colored rug over black-and-gray, swirl glazed concrete floors and plant-based décor was both mod and chic as well as welcoming and comfortable.
All of this, I told myself, even if I had not yet been able to fully stamp the place with my personality, because I couldn’t quite afford it. Not on my own dime. Not without dipping into my trust fund, which I’d already copiously dipped into.
And after having fun in France, and setting up the store, I now had this thing where, what I had, I would have because I’d earned it.
Thus, at this point, what I had wasn’t a lot.
I told myself all this as I headed to the hall that contained the powder room that not only gave me an entry area but created an alcove in the kitchen were my stainless-steel kitchen sink was tucked away.
I also told myself I had time to get a handle on things.
Mi-Young was notoriously late.
Jacob was notoriously early.
It was 3:30 on the dot, when the festivities were set to begin, and I knew this doorbell would be them, splitting the difference.
I could pull myself together with them around. Not a problem.
Furthermore, surely Judge would be at least five, maybe ten minutes late not only due to his long drive, but also so he wouldn’t perpetrate the rudeness of actually being on time.
However, I knew this hope was destined to be crushed as I traversed my short hall and saw through the glazed glass door, there was not the double-body of Mi-Young and Jacob.
It was the long body of Judge.
Right on time.
Drat the man.
I fought the need to duck into the powder room to check my hair, and instead arranged my face to mild disapproval and opened the door.
“I should have known,” I said by way of greeting. “Right on time.”
He looked me up and down but snagged on his down to read my tee.
He then burst out laughing.
God, that delicious, deep, no-holds-barred laugh.
It was like he was trying to irritate me.
I glared.
He caught my gaze and stated baldly, “Jesus, fuck, I really need to kiss you right now.”
“You cannot,” I denied. “We’re simply acquaintances who were thrown together to do something worthy, but nonetheless the doing of it will be annoying.”
“A hug?” he teased, that damned adorable and attractive dimple popping.
I rolled my eyes, stepped to the side, lifted a hand and gave it a flick to indicate he should come in, but I wasn’t all that thrilled about the invitation.
His lips were twitching as he didn’t hesitate to accept my invitation.
He stopped in the living room and looked around.
He then walked to the back door, which was not glazed glass, but clear as day, and peeked into my miniscule, fenced backyard.
He then turned to me.
“Your friends not here yet?”
I shook my head.
He nodded, looked up my stairs, then back to me before he asked, “No pets?”
“No,” I forced out.
“You don’t like them?”
“I have shared, I think more than once, that I’m a busy woman,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, and I’m a busy guy, but I got an animal.”
“Would you like something to drink?” I offered.
“This place not take animals?” he pushed.
“Yes, they do.”
“But not cats, just dogs, and dogs need company, something you can’t give, you being busy and all,” he deduced.
“They accept cats.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
When this went on a perplexing amount of time, I queried, “Why are we discussing this?”
“Coming from the bathroom at Duncan’s, I saw you down a hall, holding and cooing to a cat like it was your child.”
I had indeed done that because my precious Tuck needed some loving care, what with all those nasty people around, traipsing through his domain.
“That was Tuck. He’s Duncan’s. Even so, he owns me. And as Tuck’s minion, it’s my responsibility to be available when he desires to lodge a complaint, something he was in need of doing, considering he’s not a party type of feline,” I shared.
Judge’s lips turned up.
And then he remarked, “Considering your dedication to this servitude, I would doubly expect you to have your own.”
“This seems a leap to make,” I replied.
“Not really. You care way too deeply about the people in your life, not to mention the cat at Duncan’s house, not to have something in that life that soaks up the overflow.”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
He came to stand at the back of the couch and leaned a thigh against it, crossing his arms on that wide chest of his.
“So?” he demanded.
This was not his to have.
This was not getting-to-know-you time.
This was get-an-unwanted-task-started time.
My mind knew this (of a sort).
Apparently, my mouth didn’t.
“I’m not allowed to have one,” I admitted.
He appeared deeply shocked.
“Not allowed?”
“Again, do you want something to drink? I’ve decided on a signature cocktail for the evening. Homemade whisky sour.”