Bait (Wake, #1)(35)

We drove through side streets close to where my parents lived. They'd been in the same house since I was small. The neighborhood was familiar and I'd always liked it. I scrolled through my mental map trying to figure out which restaurant we were going to. I came up short. There wasn't a restaurant in that area.

Grant pulled over to the curb and got out. Walking around to my door, he opened it for me. I didn't know what we were doing there. Maybe we knew the people who lived in the house. He grabbed my hand and walked me toward the bungalow's porch. It was a brick house and it had a porch swing, a holstered flag swayed over the front steps and big ferns hung on hooks between the four squared-off, white pillars.

There were a few lights on inside, but looking through the windows it didn't appear there was anyone home.

There on that porch Grant got down on one knee.

He produced a white, velvet box from his pocket and offered it to me for inspection with one hand.

“Blake, I love you. I love everything about you. I always have. I know I didn't discuss it with you and we don't have to stay here long if you don't like it, but I bought this house for us. I want this to be our home. I want you to be my wife and I want to be your husband. Will you please, please say yes and marry me?” He swallowed back some of the nervousness that must have risen to the surface of his throat.

Kneeling on the wooden plank porch, he looked so right. Everything did. The house. The ring. The man. It all seemed the way it should be.

It had been coming, but the house was a true surprise. It had a porch swing. And I loved porch swings.

It all felt surreal. I looked around. The bushes were perfectly trimmed. The windows were clean. The grass had been mowed and he was offering it to me. He was proposing a life, not just a marriage. A life I could be proud of. He would love me and care for me.

He wouldn't hurt me. He wouldn't leave me. He didn't have a girlfriend.

“Yes.” I let a relieved smile melt across my lips. “Yes to all of it. I love it!”

He stood up quickly and kissed me. His lips were warm and soft and like always, his kiss was measured. Even in this emotional life-changing moment, he kept his control and his emotions at bay. So I did, too.

I always pictured that I'd cry when I was proposed to. But I didn't. There wasn't anything to cry about.

Breaking our sweet kiss he asked, “Do you want to go in?”

“Yeah. Let's see this house you bought.” Maybe it was the terrible emotions from earlier colliding with the elation I was supposed to be feeling, I didn't know, but walking into my new house for the first time with my fiancé felt okay. Just okay.

I'm sure it would hit me later and the sense of excitement would fill me. I'd just have to wait for it all to sink in.

“We have some work to do, but I think it's going to be a great first home.” He looked almost more apprehensive about the bungalow than he had about the proposal. “I know the floors need refinishing and the carpet needs replacing, new paint, new kitchen—you can do whatever you'd like in there—and a lot of other things, too. But it's ours.”

“What's the address?” I asked.

“9335 Aloha Street.”

I thought it was funny. Aloha meant hello and goodbye at the same time. Even the street name felt appropriate.

He showed me around and we had pizza delivered our new house. He walked me through every room and described every idea he had for the future of our home and he had lots of them.

We ate the pizza on the floor of the empty dining room and drank champagne, which he'd dropped by earlier, out of plastic cups.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” I wanted so badly to connect with him. To feel him. To get swept away by him. If ever there was a night to do that, it was the night he'd asked me to marry him.



When we got back to my apartment, I felt anxious, like it was about to be our first time all over again. Grant and I had a pretty decent sex life, until I got back from San Francisco. But lately we'd been busy. I'd had my period. He had been working a lot of extra hours—only then obvious to me—to save for both the ring and the house.

So we hadn't been together much lately.

Grant was a gentle lover. He was generous and sweet. He kissed my neck and caressed my skin. He looked deep into my eyes.

I'd asked him to stay over, and that wasn't anything new for us pre-San Francisco. He followed me into the bedroom. I didn't turn on any lights on my way, walking through the small apartment through the moonlight that spilled in through my windows.

When we got to my bedroom, we both sort of stood there. It had been a little while and it was taking a few minutes for us to find our rhythm again. Then he walked over to the bed and sat down. He took off his shoes and socks methodically in the dark, making sure not to make a mess. Not that I would have minded. That behavior wasn't anything strange for him though.

I had been in the same room, doing that same thing many times with him. It was only then I'd ever noticed how he took his clothes off himself and I found myself walking around to my side of the bed. I took my sandals off, followed by my pants and shirt. I left my bra and panties on, wanting him to take them off me. But when I saw him stripped bare, I followed suit and took them off myself.

He lay back on the bed and faced me. I mirrored his actions rolling on my side to the center to meet him.