Page 39 of Absolutely Not in Love
I nod. “I did.”
“And you decided to play hockey instead of going into the family business?”
“Good guess.”
“Good for you,” Gracie says, a fire blazing in her eyes.
“When my grandmother passed away—”
“This is the grandmother who was the violinist?” Gracie asks, and I nod.
“When she passed away, she left me enough to buy this place and renovate it, and then invest a little extra. Eli manages the portfolios of a few guys on the team, and he’s been a great help in figuring out where to invest. It’s nothing compared to what my father has, but I’m living on my terms, and that’s important to me.”
“Wait, Eli—as in the guy who bounds into your apartment like a golden retriever puppy and has asked me out a million times?”
I grin. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s got a lot of brains behind that smile.”
Gracie shifts, stretching her back, and I realize,again,that we’re still sitting on the floor. “Here,” I say, quickly standing. I offer her both hands. “Let’s sit on the couch.”
She slips her fingers into mine, and I tug her to her feet. When she’s fully upright, she’s standing incredibly close—close enough for me to feel the warmth of her, to feel the brush of her exhale across my collarbone. I loosen my grip on her hands—she could easily pull away if she wanted to—but I don’t let go.
Slowly, she lifts her eyes to mine.
It has to mean something that she isn’t pulling away, that her hands are still cocooned in mine, her fingers pressed into my palms.
An idea pops into my head. Well, several ideas, but only one that would be a good idearight now.
“Hey, can I show you something?” I ask.
She nods, and I finally let her go, a surge of excitement moving through me. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier. If there’s anyone who will enjoy what’s hidden inside the oversized trunk that functions as my coffee table, it’s Gracie.
“Let me clean this up,” I say. “Then I’ll show you.”
She nods. “Okay.”
I make fast work of clearing away our dinner mess, hauling it all to the kitchen and throwing it away.
While I’m in the kitchen, I see Gracie cross into the laundry room where she must be emptying the dryer and adding yet another load of her wet clothes.
I beat her back to the living room, and I sit down on the couch to wait. When she returns, she’s taken off my sweatshirt, revealing the Loyola U T-shirt underneath. She has the hem cinched up and tied in a knot, accentuating her small waist and the generous swell of her hips.
I swallow against the growing lump in my throat.
She’s so incredibly beautiful, even like this. In sweats, with no makeup, her hair pulled up in a simple bun.
“Ready?”
When she nods, I reach for the trunk, unclasping the brass locks, then lift the heavy lid.
“This isalsosomething I inherited from my grandmother,” I say.
Gracie sits down beside me and gasps.
Inside the trunk are more than three hundred records—many of them renowned classical recordings that qualify as true collector’s items.
Gracie reaches in and pulls out a copy of Handel’sWater Music, recorded by the Berlin Philharmonic. She hands it to me, then pulls out another, this one a complete set of recordings done by the Academy of Ancient Music in London of Mozart’sThe Symphonies. Behind that one, she finds Bach’sUnaccompanied Cello Suitesperformed by cellist, Janos Starker.
She holds this one carefully. “Can we listen to this one?” she says, her voice almost reverent.
