“Just hold on a beat.” I try to come up with an excuse as to why that’s not a good idea, but I’m drawing a blank. Bottom line is, I’m the one who insisted on using my own clothes and she seems to be obliging. “I, uh—I haven’t made my bed yet.”
“Seriously?” she laughs.
Yeah, I sound insane. “Fine, this way.”
We walk up the stairs and I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s following me.
“I’m actually shocked there isn’t an antler chandelier or, like, a giant moose or bear head on the wall above the fireplace.”
We both glance over at the massive stone fireplace she’s referring to. The stone not only encompasses the fireplace and hearth, but it runs all the way up the wall to the ceiling.
“When I pulled up this morning, I thought for sure it would look like Gaston decorated the place.”
“Gaston?”
We take a right down the hallway until we hit the end, where the master bedroom is. I pause briefly. “Yeah, like in Beauty and the Beast? When he’s singing, he says, ‘I use antlers in all of my decorating’?” She sings it, gesturing with one arm as I stare at her blankly. “Come on . . . Gaston?”
I bite back a smile at how cute she looks. “Nope, no clue.” I open the door to my bedroom and we both step inside.
“Holy shit,” she whistles, “this room is bigger than my entire apartment back in Chicago.” I watch her as she does a lap around the room, poking her head into the bathroom before I hear her gasp echo off the tile floor.
“You have a clawfoot tub?” Her head shoots back around the corner.
“Yup, my mom picked that out, actually.” I follow her into the bathroom and watch as she softly runs her fingertips over the edge of the massive tub. “Had it custom made since I’m too tall for the typical old-fashioned ones.”
“Your mom has excellent taste.”
She’s silent again, taking in the unobstructed mountain view from the large bay window on the far side of the bathroom.
“No neighbors,” she gestures with her chin. “Was this place originally going to be yours or your parents’?”
“Mine.” I push off the wall and point over my shoulder. “Closet is this way.”
I don’t mind her questions, but I’m also not interested in getting into a discussion about my plans for this place or why I live alone in a 5,000-square-foot house. Naturally, those are the types of questions that follow.
“Hmm, okay,” she says, flipping through my shirts. She dives right in, pulling different hangers and opening drawers. She groups several shirts on an unused portion of the closet rod. “Only jeans?” she asks, pointing to some drawers.
I shake my head no. “There are a few non-denim options in there. Not sure if they still fit.”
She pulls the drawers open and grabs a few pairs of jeans and a pair of Dockers. She steps back and stares at the selection of clothes she’s assembled.
“I don’t think we need shoe or hat options . . . we’ll just use the same boots and hat you always wear.”
“Told you I had options,” I smirk.
“I’ll be out there.” She points back toward my bedroom and makes a beeline out of the closet.
“Wait, what’s going on?” I ask, following behind her.
She takes a seat on my unmade bed. “You’re trying on the clothes so we can style some outfits.”
She’s clearly confused as to why I’m confused, but all I can focus on is the fact that she’s sitting on my fucking bed. She leans back a little, resting her hands by her hips.
“Why do you need me to try stuff on? I’m in jeans and a button-down right now, and those are just different variations of this.” I motion to my body.
“I’m the professional, remember? We agreed. I say ‘jump’ and you do it.” She bats her eyelashes at me.
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”