Page 10 of Love Me

Chapter 6

Owen wore a cotton shirt that hugged his core, showing off his broad shoulders. The jeans on his hips hung below his waist, exposing a thin line of his boxer briefs. The sight made my mouth water, thinking of what was underneath. He caught me staring and grinned, swooping me into a tight hug. I rested my head on his chest. Then I followed him to the Tesla in our private garage. Though the appointment with Orinda Jones was that afternoon, in a last-minute show of support and a desperate need to distract my nerves, I agreed to go with Owen to Rye to visit a house, one that, if we loved it, would be ours.

It was a new day, a new beginning for us, a fresh attempt to get over our pasts. I told myself that I knew Owen, and I wouldn’t have moved all the way across the country with a man I didn’t trust. Even if he had choked Coco and brought her to her breaking point, nearly killing her in the process, he had never lied to me. He made it clear that he would never do more than I could handle. I had to believe him, and I had to trust my own instincts.

The silver buildings around us turned into lush green landscapes. Branches on thick trees stretched across the yards and into the streets as if waving to us. The houses, many of which were multiple stories, had columns in the front and cobblestone walkways. The architecture ranged from colonial to modern houses—well, more like mansions—with towers stretching in the middle of them. It felt like we were driving through a storybook, with each page turning to a different genre, a different world.

At the end of the road, a house sat behind a long stretch of grass. A stone walkway with steps sprinkled over the grass led up to the front door. We drove up the driveway and parked behind a black Mercedes. A blond woman with a porcelain smile waved to us. Owen nodded.

“You must be Mrs. Lowell,” she said, reaching for my hand. “I’m Jeanelle Eagleton with Brooks & Unger Real Estate.”

“Riley,” I said. I shook her hand and looked at Owen, who was grinning. I smiled too. It was unnecessary to correct her amusing assumption, and I hoped that viewing houses together meant I wasn’t far off from officially becoming Mrs. Lowell, but that wasn’t something I was going to bring up right then. Who would’ve thought? Riley, the-untrusting-fiercely-independent-woman-who-doesn’t-need-a-man, Glass would want to marry anyone, especially someone like Owen Lowell.

We followed Jeanelle through the house. Hardwood floors, six spacious rooms sitting on a one and a half-acre lot. The large windows spread in every direction, covered in a material that blocked the heat, keeping the house cool even if all of the blinds were pulled open. The morning light swept its fingers inside, tickling the house with a kindness that made it seem like we were walking in a pleasant memory.

Owen continued to grill Jeanelle about the house and the area, and I stopped in one of the bedrooms. It wasn’t the master, but it was spacious and had its own private balcony too, with windows showing a view of the private beach. Trees waved calmly in the wind; the soothing sand staying in its place; the ocean crawled forth and shimmered away. I sat on the cushioned windowsill bench, gazing out the window, dreaming of what it would be like to create art in this room while staring at this view for inspiration. People had always been the core of my creations, but I wondered if I could find solace in nature. If nothing else, it was peaceful to look at the Atlantic.

“I knew you’d like this room,” Owen said. He stood in the doorframe, looking at me wistfully. “It’s perfect for a studio.”

“Do you read my mind automatically or for sport?” I asked.

He chuckled. “When Jeanelle sent me the photos of this place, I knew this room would be perfect for you.”

I smiled, but felt sad. I didn’t understand how Owen could be so confident in everything he did, confident in us, confident in me, about what he knew and what I wanted, when I was completely mixed up, unable to figure out what I truly wanted, who I wanted to be, or who I should believe. The look on Owen’s face showed that he knew where my mind had wandered, so I shook the thoughts from my head. There was no reason to feel doubt about us. Even if Owen’s past was crowded with violence, that didn’t mean his future was.

“What do you think?” Owen asked as soon as we were in the car.

I shrugged. “I don’t know what to say,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never looked at an apartment or a house before. I’ve only lived with my mom or Clay.”

The contemplative look on his face made my stomach churn, as if this simple acknowledgment of our differences could make me nauseous.

“Did you like it?” he asked. “It’s ours if you say the word.”

Ours. The word echoed in my head. But did I like it? Of course I did. It was a house plucked straight out of my dreams. It had enough rooms that I could have a studio and not feel guilty about it. And if we decided to have children, then—

That’s when my stomach truly lurched. I guess it was too much commitment for my brain. What the hell was I thinking? We hadn’t been together for a year yet, and I had moved across the country with him, and I was already thinking about a future I had never planned on having. I quickly slid the car door open and vomited on the street. Not again, I thought. Twice in one week? My stomach contorted until I had emptied the contents of my breakfast onto the street. Owen tried to hold my hair out of my face, and I shook out of his grip. It wasn’t like I was incapacitated; I was car sick. I didn’t need him looking at my vomit crusted face.

Once I buckled my seatbelt again, Owen asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. He kept his eyes on the road, for once not daring to challenge my answer. I had other things to worry about. The meeting was in two and a half hours. I had to prepare myself mentally.

Orinda’s golden braided hair swung along her back as she tilted her head back and forth at the photographs in my portfolio. I tried to remember the order I had placed them in, but couldn’t. My stomach was still churning. At Owen’s insistence, I had eaten a few saltines and gulped down some ginger ale. It had helped for a while, but as soon as I walked into the studio, my nerves won the battle and were back to doing backflips in my gut. Thanks, brain, I thought. Thanks, stomach. You’re both assholes.

Orinda’s eyebrow raised into an arch that reminded me of a clown’s. “These were repaired after vandalization?” she asked.

“Anything marked with the blue initials in the corner,” I said. “The unmarked ones are new.” I sat on my crossed fingers, hoping the portfolio was at least passable. But I told myself that if Orinda declined to offer me space, it was good practice for the next appointment.

No, I thought. You’ve got to think like you’re going to get the spot. This is it.

Orinda stood, then gestured behind her. “Follow me,” she said.

I immediately regretted how quickly I had stood up. I paused, looking down as if I could look into my body and scold my stomach.

“Is everything all right?” Orinda asked.

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