He said something under his breath that I didn’t quite catch as I hurried up the last few steps. After unlocking the handle I threw the door open and stepped inside before turning to watch as Jordan looked around. His brows went up as he took it all in.
“This is beautiful—I love custom pieces like this,” he said as he gestured to the entry table. “Is your mom a decorator?”
I beamed at him. I’d decorated it myself over the course of the previous three years and was really proud of it. My mom was away a lot and she wasn’t into décor, but I loved it. I’d spent hours at flea markets and yard sales getting beat up furniture to chalk paint. We’d also gotten some really nice pieces that were new. We weren’t rich, but my mom made enough for us to live in a nice neighborhood.
“It was me,” I answered happily. “I love to work with furniture, paint and fabrics."
“Holy shit,” he said, as he looked around again wide-eyed. “You did all this?”
“I did,” I said proudly. “My mom doesn’t care about design so she gave me free reign. I was happy to do it.”
I gestured toward the hall. “Follow me and I’ll show you my room. I finished it about six months ago.”
The door to my room was open, and never had I been so happy that I made my bed every morning. Stepping in, I turned to wait for his reaction. My room was a labor of love. From the metallic silver accent wall behind my bed to the floor to ceiling orchid and silver curtains I’d spent hours meticulously sewing, it was gorgeous. My full-size bed was adorned with plum and white bedding with a duvet draped across the bottom. I’d sewn it using material from high-quality top sheets I got at Goodwill.
Every detail in the room was just what I’d envisioned, including all of the intricately scrolled wood pieces I’d attached to the fronts of my simple Ikea furniture. I had spent hours using saws and drills to get everything just so, and the results were spot on. My room looked like it should be in a magazine, yet it cost less than a thousand dollars. Thank you, Craigslist, coupons, Goodwill and Pinterest.
“You’ve got amazing taste. When I was eighteen my room was a fucking disaster of dirty laundry, empty soda cans and used cond—”
He grimaced as he stopped talking. Running a hand through his hair, he looked away before speaking again.
“Are you going to design school after college?”
I shrugged and looked away. “I might. I’m taking a year off to decide what I want to do with my life. I feel like I’m supposed to have a plan or something but all I’ve ever really wanted to do is have a family.”
I was embarrassed to admit it because I knew some people found the idea crazy. The smile that spread across Jordan’s face made it clear he didn’t think I was nuts.
“That sounds perfect.”
I lit up at his understanding.
“You’re really the first person to say so,” I admitted. “My Mom is all about her career and my guidance counselors think I’m just suffering from lack of direction. The push is to go to college, get a degree and work my way up some business ladder. I just… don’t see that as being my destiny.”
“No,” he agreed quietly “Your life is what you make it. If you want a family, you’ll have a family.”
I hoped so. Nothing would make me happier than having a home, a husband and children. I’d always longed for that life, but the man at my side had always been faceless, a vague idea of a person. Suddenly the husband I imagined was Jordan Sinclair. I’d have bet any amount of money he’d be an amazing lover. Just the way his lips were shaped…
He broke me out of my little daydream with a question.
“Do you have luggage?”
I nodded and crossed the room to open one of the closet doors. My pulse spiked when Jordan came up behind me and reached out to grab one of my suitcases off the top shelf. I looked over my shoulder and watched as he set it on my bed before turning back my way. Blushing, I quickly turned back to the closet and busied myself pulling a sundress off the hanger. Instead of staying over by the bed, he came back to the closet to pull out the other suitcase.
“Will everything fit in here?” he asked.
“I’m not staying forever and I’ll do my laundry as things get dirty. I don’t want to go overboard—”
“Don’t leave anything you want or need,” he said gruffly. “I want you to bring everything. Clothes, makeup, the whole works. Whatever you need to make my house yours too.”
I turned and stared at him in surprise. It was only going to be six weeks—why was he insisting I bring everything?