“It was a long time ago,” he said as he put his napkin in his lap.
“You grew up in my apartment building?” he asked, changing the subject. I wanted him to know how sorry I was for his loss, to find a way to make it better. Despite his prickly exterior, Sam was a kind and generous man who deserved good things in his life.
“Sam, your parents . . .”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t talk about it. Let’s enjoy dinner. I thought if I got to look at you all evening, you should have something beautiful to look at, too.” His words brought me back to our date.
“You’re very sweet. But my view isn’t so bad, even without all this art.”
Sam smiled, a big boyish grin. “You totally want me.”
I giggled. “You totally want me.”
He shrugged. “Of course.”
Dinner arrived and we didn’t speak until we were alone again. We were content just to watch each other, our eyes joined as if we worried if either of us looked away, the other would disappear.
I didn’t want to ruin tonight by pushing him to talk to me about his past. It seemed every encounter with him told me something more compelling, more heartbreaking, more loveable about him. I wasn’t having dinner with another spoiled rich guy—Sam Shaw had known loss and overcome it. Nothing had been handed to him.
I wanted to know every last thought in his head.
Chapter Thirteen
Sam
We pulled up outside Grace’s apartment building and I felt the loss of her warmth the instant I let go of her hand so she could get out of the car. “Let me get your door,” I said. I quickly exited my side of the car, rounded the trunk and opened her door to find her again. She grinned up at me. God damn that smile of hers.
“You didn’t need to,” she said, but something in that smile told me she liked me opening the door for her.
We took small steps to the door of her apartment, prolonging every moment of our perfect evening.
I couldn’t believe I almost hadn’t asked her on a date. I’d been three seconds away from missing out on the best night of my life.
Grace put the key into the lock with her left hand, even though I knew she was right-handed. She didn’t want to let go either. But we’d have to go our separate ways eventually.
She stepped inside and snapped her head around when I didn’t follow.
“I think I should go.” There were a lot of reasons I shouldn’t cross the threshold. For one, I didn’t want her to think tonight had all been about sex for me. I liked this girl—to talk to and spend time with, not just sleep with. I’d begun to want more from her. I’d wanted to blow her away—for her to be impressed. For her to like me, too.
And that terrified me.
I was in new territory without a plan.
“Oh.” The smile in her eyes dissolved. “I get it,” she said, her voice flat. She didn’t get it at all. I wanted to stay. I wasn’t rejecting her.#p#分页标题#e#
“I think maybe it’s best.” How did I explain that I didn’t want to spoil anything by coming inside because I wasn’t sure what happened after this? I had no experience, no way of navigating what came next.
Her gaze hit the floor. I’d created her disappointment and I hated that I had. “You want me to come in?” I asked. Was she sure? Did she know any better than me?
“Not if you don’t want to.”
Jesus. Of course I wanted to.
“I get it. It’s fine.”
“I really want to come in,” I said, stroking my finger down her jaw and under her chin, lifting it so I could see those beautiful blue eyes. She looked up at me, her brows drawn together. “I just don’t know how this goes.” Could I not know what happened next and be okay with that? Could I want more from her?
I knew that wanting led to disappointment.
“You don’t know how this goes?” she asked.
I shrugged and took my hand away from her face. Unwittingly, I’d shown her parts of myself no one ever got to see. I wasn’t sure I was capable of giving her anything more. I was midway through a marathon I hadn’t trained for. My muscles were weak and my lungs were empty.
Because it was what we did, she could have made a joke, given me shit. But she didn’t. She seemed to understand where my boundaries were better than I did.
“Me either. Let’s find out together,” she said.
She turned and went inside and, as if she were my oxygen, I followed her. I couldn’t do anything else.
“Grace,” I called out.
“In here.” I followed the sound of her voice, my feet sinking into the thick pile of the rug in her hallway. Her home was as sophisticated as she was. Modern chandeliers hung from the ceilings. The grays and silvers on the walls, floors and furniture blended together without matching in a way that expensively decorated places managed. It wasn’t the apartment of any ordinary twentysomething living in Brooklyn. You could take the princess off Park Avenue, but you couldn’t take Park Avenue out of the girl.