Page 68 of His to Protect

Chapter 15

Trina

“This place is really nice,” I said, spinning in a slow circle. The apartment wasn’t anything special. Plain beige walls, a kitchen with a walk-in pantry, and a short bar area leading to a small dining area where Blue had a circular glass table with only two chairs. That led to the living room, where I was standing. Through the windows I saw the complex’s large outdoor pool and the nearby hot tub, both of which were already closed down for the fall and winter.

The thing I liked about the apartment was the way Blue had decorated. Shabby-chic pieces mixed with vintage pieces that she’d found at thrift stores or refinished herself spread a calming sensation, a “homey” feeling, into every corner, onto every piece of furniture inside this cookie-cutter apartment.

I loved it.

I wanted it.

I wanted to have something just like this someday, with my own furniture, where I could enter the house, drop my purse on the floor, kick off my shoes just inside the doorway, and curl up on an overly plush couch with an even softer chenille blanket.

I wanted to end a hard day of work with the satisfaction that came from knowing that not only did I work hard, but that I enjoyed myself, in a place that was comfortable and safe.

“Yeah,” she said, a bit softly. “I had fun getting this place just the way I wanted it.” She shrugged and took a seat on the couch. “But, you know, Tyson’s place is nice, too.”

It was, and it was close to Declan’s. I saw Tyson’s small ranch last week, when we dropped off Boomer before heading to Chicago. Tyson’s house and Declan’s were only a few streets away from each other.

“Don’t you want to take the furniture with you?”

She looked around the small but gorgeous living area and sighed. “Eventually, maybe. Tyson says I can bring anything I want as long as it doesn’t have pink in it.”

She smiled and ran her hands over a homemade quilt next to her.

My nose crinkled. “That’s salmon, not pink.”

She chuckled, and when she looked at me, her blue eyes were lit with humor. “That’s exactly what I told Tyson. He’s not buying it.”

“Men.” I smirked.

“Speaking of men,” she said, leaning forward. “Tell me more about you and Declan.”

I felt my cheeks and neck heat and looked out the window. It’d been so long since I’d had friends who allowed me to dish about guys. Not since college. Heck, it’d been since college that there’d been a guy I wanted to discuss.

Before I could answer, Blue said, “I’m surprised you’re interested in my apartment.”

At my confused expression, she stood up and headed toward the kitchen. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here. And if you want this place, trust me, it’s all yours. I just thought things were going well for you at Declan’s place.”

“They are.”

And they were.

Yet there was something about being at his house, and being in his bed, where he’d wanted me every night since we returned from Chicago a few days ago, that had me terrified.

I just left one horrible, nasty marriage, only to fall in bed with the first guy that came along.

He was a great guy. The kind of guy I wanted, but some mornings I woke up and wondered if I needed to take a step back.

Be by myself for a while.

I explained this to Gabriella, hesitantly at first, since she was dating one of Declan’s best friends, but the words began to flow quickly with the encouragement of her understanding and compassionate gaze.

When I was done, she simply slid me a glass of the Pinot Noir that she’d uncorked and allowed to breathe while I spoke, and then poured her own.

“I get it. I do,” she said after taking a sip. “Yet I also know that the first time Tyson and I ran into each other this spring, I knew he was the one for me. We were separated for months, partly due to my own stubbornness, and while we’re fine now, I still sometimes wonder where we’d be if I hadn’t just believed in what I felt for him.”

“I guess the problem is the last time I felt anything good for a man, it didn’t end so well.” I took a sip of my wine and glanced away from her. There was a difference between compassion and pity, and I didn’t want to risk seeing the pity that might be in her gaze. “Besides,” I continued, “You and Tyson had a history. He was your high school boyfriend, too.”

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