Page 121 of Promise Me Nothing
Me: Nothing. What’s up?
A few seconds later, my phone lights up, showing that Wyatt’s calling me.
“Hey,” I say, excited to hear from him.
“Hi,” he replies, his voice warm. Much more like the Wyatt I have gotten to know and am starting to fall for.
I almost laugh at myself.
There’s nostarting.I’ve fallen. Hard.
And he’s totally worth it.
“Hi.”
He chuckles. “Hey.”
Then I start laughing, too. “You know, it’s been one day since I’ve seen you, and I miss you,” I say. “I don’t know if that’s a thing I should say. But it’s the truth.”
There’s a pause. “I miss you, too. Want me to come pick you up?”
I grin. “Absolutely.”
“Good, because I was planning on coming to get you anyway, so I’m pulling in to the alley now.”
I turn and see a pair of headlights coming towards me, and I laugh into the phone.
“That was a bit presumptuous of you,” I reply as Wyatt parks the car and gets out, his phone still to his ear.
“Confident of me,” he corrects, rounding the front of his still running car. He pockets his phone and steps into my space, his hands coming to either side of my face. “But I think you might be just as crazy about me as I am about you. So I took the risk.”
I beam at him until his lips drop down to mine, and he gives me a kiss.
A deep one, much more than I’m expecting in a back alley behind my work on a random night of the week.
But it does what every kiss from Wyatt does.
Makes me feel love drunk.
He steps back, grabbing my bike and sliding it into the back of his SUV with the efficacy of a man on a mission. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, we’re walking in the front door of his house. Well, the guesthouse at his mother’s. I haven’t been up here before, though I’ve definitely seen the interior of the main, so I feel pleasantly surprised at how homey it is.
Warm colors and soft furnishings. More of a rustic feel than the modern woods and metals across the courtyard.
“This is beautiful,” I say, kicking my shoes off at the door and wandering into the living room. “I’ll be honest, this isn’t at all what I was expecting of the place you live.”
Wyatt chuckles as he heads into the kitchen and grabs two wine glasses from an upper cabinet.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “Something more sterile, maybe. More bachelor-ish. This is like… a home.”
“Well, that’s definitely Vicky’s doing. This guesthouse isn’t used often anymore, but she told me she wanted me to have somewhere comfortable to stay when I finally came home.” He shrugs as he uncorks a bottle of red. “But this place has never really felt like home to me.”
“Where was the last place that felt like home?”
“I mostly grew up in a house on The Strand. My parents bought this property when I was ten, but it wasn’t done until I was almost fourteen. So I only lived here for a few years before leaving for college. And I lived in the main house.”
