Page 32 of DadBod

Rome mumbles something like “the death of me.” But he doesn’t finish. Instead, he moves up to a room that was probably intended to be the master because it’s got its own floor. It’s also got sliding doors that lead to a private deck. A deck that at night would provide an amazing view of downtown Chicago. “This is Ryann’s room.”

“Wow.” I smile. “I would have killed for a bedroom like this.”

“She’s spoiled.”

“That’s okay.” I give Rome a sincere smile. “Honestly. I believe it’s okay to spoil your children.” I hold up a finger. “With one exception.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“If it’s to their detriment.” And I’m thinking Ryann may be crossing over into that realm if what Calvin said was true about her sneaking out. But what do I know?

“Agreed.” He nods.

“Come on. I’ll make us some coffee.”

We make our way down the stairs and through his bedroom. I do my best not to stare at his giant bed. I also try not to imagine waking up next to the man in the same giant bed.

God. Wouldn’t that be something?Waking up to that big, warm body wrapped around me? And those hands…

“No.” I shake my head.

“What?” Rome stops walking. “You don’t want to talk about this?”

“Oh. Yes.” I laugh nervously. “I was just trying to remember if I left my stove on at home.”

I’d slap myself on my back for the save, but it was a lame response.

“All right. Good.” I follow him through the bedroom to another room that’s separated by two beautiful french doors. “This is my sanctuary.” It’s not a huge room. I’d say it’s about ten feet by eight feet––cozy compared to the other spaces in this house. It sits between his bedroom and a small deck that overlooks the backyard. It’s not nearly as nice as Ryann’s, but I see why he likes it. It’s another masculine space painted in the same warm gray as his office. The furniture is dark and leather too. “Have a seat.” I pick an overstuffed chair with an ottoman and watch as Rome makes his way to a counter area with a sink and a coffee machine similar to the one we have at the restaurant. In other words, it’s fancy. He turns back to me. “I’d offer you espresso, but I know you prefer cappuccino.”

“How…?”

He gives me a “I work with you, remember?” look, and I shrug my shoulders. “Yes, cappuccino please.”

I sit in awe of him as he works to prepare our drinks. He opens up what I thought was a cupboard door but is actually a small fridge, and retrieves a bottle of milk. With that he makes the froth for my drink. He pours the dark brew into a cup, adding cream. Next, he does something with a metal skewer. Handing it to me, I stare down at the design. He’s created a heart-shaped leaf out of the warm milk, and I’m speechless. “Wow.” Okay. Not completely speechless.

“I was a barista in college.”

“You’re a man of many talents.”

“True.” He chuckles.

“And so modest.”

Rome chooses the seat to my left. Sipping from his tiny cup, he shrugs. “I’ve always worked hard. Nothing has come easily. I’ll take the compliment.”

“Fair enough.” We sip our drinks in companionable silence. That is until I say, “I can see why you love this space.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” I nod. “It’s warm, comfortable, and inviting. You’re only missing a television.” And a fireplace, but I keep that to myself.

Leaning forward, Rome picks up a remote and clicks. That’s when the painting, or what I thought was a painting, on the wall above the coffee station comes to life.

“That’s a television?”

“It is.”

“Cool.” I sound like a kid seeing something for the first time. “How clever.”

“Ryann picked it out.”

“She did good.”

“That she did.”

Sipping our drinks, it’s Rome who clears his throat and begins.