Page 31 of Love… It's Wild
“There’s an outfit for every occasion.”
I open my arms to showcase the sweet floral dress I’m wearing, paired with a denim jacket and ankle boots. His eyes skim the short hemline of my dress, which stops even higher with the way I’m holding up my arms.
“That’s an awfully short skirt, don’t you think?”
“You’re worse than a nun in a Catholic school.” I pick up the skirt and show off what I have on underneath. “I have shorts on.”
His eyes widen at the very tight booty shorts I have on that cling to my skin, but he doesn’t say a word. I drop my skirt and snap my fingers, whisking his attention back to the house.
He stomps up the stairs, mumbling to himself, and I follow him in, hauling my tote bags and laptop.
Molly places the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, and I drop one of my totes on a chair when Rob nods toward the back of the house.
“Your room is this way.”
Through a small corridor on the first floor, I’m surprised at the changes made to the room beside the first-floor bathroom. The once-stained couch that was here has been replaced with a double bed, brass headboard, and pale pink bedding with large white dahlia flowers. The walls are no longer mint green, but a soft rose, giving the room a feminine touch without being childish. On the wall is a piece of art—a painted picture of a woman dancing in a meadow, her dress, that matches the exact shade of the painted walls, is flowing in the breeze. The brushstrokes are soft yet detailed enough to show the curves of her body and the sway of her back and the tiny ringlets of hair that fall onto her neck.
I turn to Rob and look at him, leaning against the doorframe.
“This was very sweet of you. I didn’t need a newly decorated room.”
“You do. We haven’t decided on compensation yet, and I plan to pay you fairly. A proper place to stay is the least I can do.”
“I don’t need to be paid. You’re doing me a favor, too, remember? Trust me, I know I seem demanding, but this room is more than kind. I knew you had a soft spot in that cold heart of yours.”
His eyes dart around the room as a hint of bashful blooms on his cheeks. “I’ll pay you for your time. I don’t take advantage, and I won’t accept anything for free.”
“I don’t need the money.”
“Doesn’t matter what you need. It’s about what you deserve. You’re accepting payment, and that’s final.” His voice rises, and I startle slightly.
“Well, my price is steep, so you’d better be prepared to pay.” I try to make light of the situation.
“The couch wasn’t appropriate, so we bought this bed, and the desk is so you can still get your accounting work done.”
It’s a thoughtful gesture, one I’m not accustomed to. “The pink is pretty. Thank you.”
“Molly picked out the bedding.” Rob gives a curt nod and then walks out of the room.
Leaving my bags, I follow him out, stealing one last glance at the space put together just for me.
In the kitchen, I sort through the contents Molly has unpacked and grab a carton of muffins I brought from home. I wrap two banana nut muffins in parchment paper bags and hand one to Rob.
“What’s this?” He stares at the pastry like I handed him a bomb.
“Breakfast.” I extend another to Jesse as he strolls into the kitchen, looking like a sullen teenager. “Good morning, muffin. I got you a muffin.”
Jesse looks at his dad, bewildered. “Did she just call me muffin or offer me a muffin?”
“Both, I believe,” Rob answers his son, taking the parchment from my hands. “Did you make these yourself?”
“Yep!” I open one of my personal totes and grab two brown paper bags and hold them out to them. “I also packed you lunch. I didn’t know what you liked, so I went with Italian subs for both. You each have chips, an apple, and a piece of chocolate because no meal should go by without something sweet. Don’t get too excited. I bake and pack lunches, but I don’t cook. I mean, I literally can when it’s a necessity, but I don’t make fancy dinners. That is going to have to be your department, although I do a spectacular job at ordering in. Do they deliver out here?”
Rob nods as he and his son stare at me, their muffins and lunch in each hand. “I can grill tonight.”
I clap my hands together. “Love a man who can grill. Jesse, take notes from your old man because a guy who can cook is a total catch. You don’t happen to do the dishes, too, do you?”
“He does,” Molly chimes in. “And laundry.”