“I’ll carry that,” he said, nodding at the box as he came up. She handed it to him. It was pretty heavy, and whatever was in it felt solid.
“Elevator’s just around that corner,” she said and headed that direction.
In the elevator, she pressed the button on the top row—headed to the top floor or just below it; the buttons had colored rings around them instead of numbers, so he couldn’t be sure.
They stood side by side, the box keeping him from making a move to sex up the ride. Neither spoke, and the awkward silence started to hurt, so Jay finally grabbed something—anything—to say.
“So you bought one of these lofts, huh?” Fuck. Silence was better than those lame-ass words.
But she smiled and didn’t look at him like he was an idiot. “Yep. About a year and a half ago.”
“You like it?”
“I do, yeah.”
More awkward silence, but then the elevator stopped and the doors opened.
They opened onto a typical lobby-looking area, with industrial grey carpet and a big warehouse window that showed a pretty nice view of the city. Tulsa always looked better at night, Jay thought, with the twinkling lights and, if you were in the right place and facing the right direction, the dark ribbon of river wending through. This building was in the right place, but this window didn’t face that direction.
“I’m just down here,” she said, drawing his attention back where it belonged.
They went down a corridor, also carpeted in industrial grey, to a bright green door with a black metal plate in the center: 6W.
It struck him hard then: the enormous risk she was taking, letting a man she barely knew into her home. He’d clocked her wariness, her fear, outside the bar, but she’d told him her friend was upstairs, armed and apparently alert for trouble. He supposed he’d been focused on her, and on the possibility of getting shot from above, and then focused on her in a different way when she’d kissed him and invited him home.
Actually, he’d been focused onhimselfthen, hadn’t he? Trying not to scare her, trying to get close, then getting close and marveling at his success. It honestly hadn’t sunk in how much trust she was giving his promise to behave himself until right now, as her door opened, and he followed her into her home.
That trust hit him like a truck. It was a command in his mind: don’t fuck up. Don’t do or say anything stupid or shitty. Be the man she hopes you are, the man she’s trusting you to be.
He had no idea if he was that guy or not, but if not, he meant to fake it.
They entered into a short hallway, no longer than he was tall. The walls were white and unadorned. Petra hit a switch, and the whole loft seemed to illuminate.
Beyond that unimpressive entrance was, yeah, a loft like something out of a movie about a starving artist. The floor was wide-plank wood, stained almost black. The walls beyond the sheetrock entry were also white, but these were painted brick, and very rough. Original, obviously. A lot of paintings and artsy photographs hung on the walls, just like the walls of the bar. She was obviously very into art.
Enormous warehouse windows lined the long wall on the far side of the room. There were curtains, dark red velvet, but they hung bunched at the sides, leaving the windows totally unobstructed—and the river wended through this view, reflections of lights and stars making it sparkle.
Her furniture and décor was mismatched and artsy, with seemingly random groupings of chairs, some upholstered, some leather, some wood. A low, puffy sofa, draped in woven blankets or something, was placed directly before one of the huge windows. In the corner beside it stood the biggest houseplant Jay had ever seen, with humungous, deep green, shiny leaves. Arching over that was a funky silver floor lamp with a ball head that dangled over the sofa.
The whole vibe of the place was so intentional and mature, so ... smart? ... no,sophisticated, Jay found himself intimidated.
“You can set the box on that table, thanks.” She waved to the left. He turned and set the box on a roughhewn black wood table that looked like it might once have been part of an old-timey assembly line. A cluster of three dark metal figures, small statues of naked people of indeterminate gender, stood on one side of the table. On the whitewashed brick wall above it hung an oil painting. It was obviously an actual painting—he could see the raised swirls of paint—but he had no idea what he was looking at. Just blobs and swirls of color. But it was really big, like five feet across and maybe seven feet tall.
Scanning to the top of that weird painting brought him to the most impressive part of the loft so far: the ceiling. He’d expected exposed pipes and ducts, and they were there, but above them, the ceiling kept going—and it was peaked. Gorgeous wood planks, stained maple, maybe, soared to a point. And near the top of one side was a skylight.
Yep. Top floor. “This is the penthouse,” he said, still looking up.
She laughed. “Well, the top floor, anyway.” Coming over, she took the lid off the box. Inside was a folded-over paper sack and then what looked like a bunch of files. She took the sack out, put the lid back on the box, and went to the fridge with the sack. “Do you want a drink? I don’t have beer, but I have wine, all the usual liquors, and some mixers.”
“I’ll take a Jack, if you’ve got it.”
His mother would have fallen to her knees to see the kitchen. It was at the other side of the big room, most of it lined up against another brick wall—appliances, a poured concrete counter, cupboards below and shelves above, a deep industrial sink—and a continent-sized island before it, with a big vase of calla lilies in the center. But what would have made his mother weep with envy was the middle of the wall, a heavy plaster section, floor to ceiling, that housed one of those brand-new old-fashioned ranges (extremely expensive; he’d gone out with Pop to price them when they’d given her a kitchen remodel for a birthday present a few years earlier, and they’d decided to go with thecheaperWolf range).
It seemed like Petra was kind of loaded.
“This is an amazing place. My m—”Holy shit, asshole, don’t mention your mother right now!He slammed his mouth shut so quickly he almost bit his tongue.
She didn’t seem to notice his terrifying near miss, but she smiled at his compliment. “Thank you. I like it. I’ve got Knob Creek. Will that do?”