The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(96)

Not that I’d let anyone else have a turn. Nope! Private attraction. Special ticket-holders only.

At the top of the stairs, Pat unlocks another door, then pauses. I give him my very best drumroll, which admittedly isn’t very good. But it’s enough to light up his eyes and put my favorite grin on his face.

Pat throws open the door, and I simply stare. “I give you casa de … uh, to be named later. Welcome to Casa TBD!”

My first thought: This is nothing like Big Mo’s cramped apartment above the diner.

My second thought is a very eloquent WOW.

Pat starts to set me down and I cling to him like I’m a sloth and he’s my very favorite tree.

“Do you want a carrying tour?” he asks, chuckling. “Because that can be arranged.”

“Tempting,” I say, and his smile widens. “But no. Just give me a minute. I’m taking it all in.”

Pat steps inside and nudges the door closed. I feast my eyes on the space, not believing how perfect it is. It has high ceilings with exposed ducts and beams. The walls are a color that falls somewhere between dark gray and navy. Huge windows along the front flood the space with natural light. The floors are a refinished wood, somehow retaining their worn history while also looking smooth and fresh.

Furnishings are sparse, though there is a sectional sofa and massive TV. I can see where a big table will go, right under a modern iron light fixture. The massive kitchen island looks like it’s just waiting for stools.

Only two things hang on the walls, and both make my throat swell with emotion. The first is Jo’s Jaws coloring page, which Pat has framed. The other is a painting I haven’t seen but immediately recognize.

“You can put me down now.”

Obediently, Pat carefully sets me down, and steps back, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I walk over to the painting, an abstract in varying shades of blue. A bright yellow bit of yarn works through the thick paint, part of Val’s signature style. I see her actual signature in the bottom corner, a big sweeping V.

“You bought one of Val’s paintings.”

“I did. She’s really talented.”

“She is.” I turn to look at him. “Do she and Winnie know about this place?”

Pat shakes his head. “Just my family. I started the renovation after the first day I saw you. Then I kept it going just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Just in case a tree fell through your house,” he says lightly. When I raise my eyebrows, he glances away. “I’ve been a little worried about the structural integrity of your house. Even before the tree. I thought if needed, we could move here while we fix it up or … I don’t know.”

His thoughtfulness threatens to capsize me completely. Just when I think I know the extent of this Pat’s kindness, he goes and renovates a gorgeous apartment for us. He looks uncharacteristically unsure, which is entirely too many UNs. I walk closer, then stand on my toes to kiss his jaw. I can’t reach his lips without a stepstool. Maybe I’ll start walking around with stilts for easy access.

“This is amazing, Pat. The place is gorgeous.”

He grins, bending to press a warm kiss to my lips. “The place is gorgeous? How about the man behind the place?”

“He’s not so bad either.”

“I can work with not so bad either. What do you think about this exposed brick wall?” he asks.

I glance back at the wall in question. “I love it.”

“Really? Let’s make sure.”

His big hands find my hips and urge me back until I’m flush with the wall. He slides his fingers up to my shoulders and then places them on either side of my head, caging me in. “How about now? Still like it?”

“I think so … but maybe I need some convincing.”

Pat needs no more convincing, fusing his mouth to mine. I grip his shirt, pulling him closer, letting my hands glide up his broad chest. The loft is forgotten as we pause for a minute—or an hour? Pat’s kisses have a way of bending time. When we come up for air, I’m feeling languid and kiss-drunk.

But Pat’s energy only seems heightened. He gives me a broad smile and then tugs on my hand.

“Time for the full tour,” he says, his boyish excitement returning in full force. “I have so much more to show you.”

“I think I might need to think about the wall a bit more,” I tell him, but he only laughs, dragging me onward.

The kitchen is fully functional, even though a few things are still missing, like stools for the island and the hood over the stove. Pat already has dishes and all the necessities in the drawers and on the shelves. Everything is gorgeous, a mix of modern and classic—the best of both worlds. It’s very Pat, but it also is the style I would have chosen. It feels like US.

Pat leads me to the giant windows along the front. An electric saw and some other tools sit near a puddle from the storm, and a new metal railing is in place but unsecured. “The balcony isn’t quite done, but you can walk out to it here and from your office.”

“My … office?”

Pat grins and throws open a door. Inside is a small room flooded with light. There are bookshelves waiting to be filled, a chair, and a desk facing the window and balcony door. Another big window on the side wall overlooks the library down the street.