Page 52 of Things We Tell Ourselves

The driver watches them through the rearview mirror, waiting for a response.

“To his house,” she declares, sounding far more confident than she’s feeling.

What was she doing? This wasn’t her. She doesn’t go to a man’s house after one date, especially not after one that wasn’t an actual date as it was a business dinner. She turns her gaze to the handsome man sitting closer to her. Every concern in her head fades as she sees the heat in her eyes mirrored back in his.

“Where is your house exactly?”

Their driver knows precisely where they’re going and pulls out of the garage before Wade can respond. She forces herself to turn away from the desire in his eyes, not wanting to lose herself in them yet. Wade takes the hint and straightens in his seat. The car pulls out from the alleyway onto the main road.

“That’s McKinley Park,” he states as she stares out her window at the trees lining the side of the road.

She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose as she admires the glimpses of the park between the trees. “That’s a pretty name,” she mumbles. In his reflection in the window, Camille can see him looking her face over.

“It’s a nice park,” he says gently, “I can take you next time we’re in Sacramento.”

She smirks, turning her head slowly to look over her shoulder at him.

“What?” he asks after a second. “You want to go now?”

Camille shakes her head, glancing back at him as she leans into him, closing the distance between them. “I’m good,” she sighs. He lifts his arm, propping it behind her headrest for her to lean into his chest.

The ride to his place is short. Expecting traffic to be more like Los Angeles, Camille is just getting comfortable against Wade’s chest when they pull off the main road and straight into a garage.

“This is us,” Wade announces, stretching as Camille sits up.

“That was quick,” she replies, looking around at the empty walls of the garage.

Wade opens his door and the driver hurrying around to get hers.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Wade says, climbing out of the backseat.

She takes the driver’s hand, finding that she’s no longer feeling as tipsy as she had at the restaurant. The garage smells like new construction.

“Have a nice night,” the driver tells her.

“Thanks, you too,” Camille says, Wade, echoing his thanks as she joins him at the door to the house.

He opens the door, clicking lights on inside.

“I wanted something close to the restaurant so I can oversee the renovation on my weekends off. Now that the restaurant is open, I’m using the construction on the second floor as my excuse to keep the place.”

Camille plasters on a grin, thinking how nice it is to buy a house simply because it’s close in proximity to your latest million-dollar project. The door opens to a mudroom leading into the house. The living room past the mudroom is smaller than expected, but the overall feel is the same as the guesthouse loft in L.A. Dark-colored rugs and furniture fill the small space with brighter, neutral-colored walls. The open door past the living room, where a kitchen or dining room should be, is a home gym. Free weights are lined up against the wall facing the door.

She’s about to walk past the stairs when Wade waves his hand for her to go up them.

“It doesn’t have the kind of view that my mom’s place has, but…it’s more me,” he smiles, directing her to the stairs.

She’s halfway up the stairs when a thought passes over her. Wade is close behind her, looking her over. She cringes with every step, knowing that her butt is quite literally feet from his face. She tries to remember exactly how her backside looked in these pants in the mirror at the boutique.

Just like the second floor of the guesthouse, the entire wall opposite the stairs is glass. She rolls her eyes, moving from the stairs out into the living room.

“I thought you said there wasn’t a view.”

Looking around, she can tell that this is where Wade Bloom spends his time. The low lighting reveals a more appropriately sized kitchen counter. Papers are scattered on it with a yellow notepad sitting on top, a pen on it as if Wade just set it down. The warm-colored furniture gives the same vibes as downstairs. Another overall masculine feel for those wanting to see the upstairs view of Sacramento.

“I said, the kind of view,” he whispers near her ear.

Wade walks over to the coffee table in front of the dark leather couch. He leans down to scoop up the remote sitting on top of the coffee table, clicking a button that causes the shades to rise.

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