Play It Safe(42)

Maybe he couldn’t afford expensive gloves, taking me to the diner and a movie.

“My treat,” I said brightly and it could be my treat. It wasn’t like I was going to retire on the Riviera within a year but without a hotel to pay for and with Janie giving me the room for two months for free I could take us to a movie and save for all the stuff I needed to start my life.

And I was looking forward to that. Getting my own car. My own mugs. My own silverware. Buying my own comforter. Replacing Gray’s TV with a new one.

I couldn’t wait for that either.

“We’re not goin’ to a movie, baby,” Gray murmured, his voice sweet, soft but still preoccupied.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Maybe he didn’t like movies or maybe he didn’t like going to the theater. Maybe on my next day off, I’d go. Though I didn’t know where the cinemas were. I knew they didn’t have one in town. And I didn’t have a car so I couldn’t get there unless I asked Gray to drop me off and pick me up which I wasn’t going to do.

So maybe I’d wait until I had my own car which might be November but I hadn’t seen a movie in the cinema in years. I could wait until November.

Gray parked where he normally parked beside the house and his door was open nearly before he had the old girl shut down. Mine creaked as I threw it open, I hopped down and it creaked as I slammed it.

Then I jumped because Gray was right there, hand in mine and he was dragging me to the house.

What on earth?

I mean, he held my hand and he did it a lot. Usually, he slid his arm around my shoulders and held me close to him but holding my hand wasn’t unheard of. He even waited on his side of the truck when we got to his place for me to round it then he took my hand or slid his arm around my shoulders so we could walk the short distance to his house.

But he’d never come to my side, grabbed my hand and dragged me to the house.

Up the three wooden steps to the porch, past the porch swing to the front door and in. Then he stopped us, closed the door and immediately shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it on the piece of furniture next to the door in his hall. It was one of those things that looked like a weird seat with armrests and a super tall back that had a mirror in it, the seat opened up so you could store stuff in it and there were hooks all around the mirror.

As he did this, I pulled the strap of my purse over my head.

The instant I got it cleared, Gray grabbed it and tossed it on his coat.

I blinked and froze.

Gray didn’t.

He shrugged off his suit jacket (incidentally, Gray wore a suit to church and it looked amazing on him, dark blue with a dark blue/gray shirt under it and a phenomenal tie, I loved him in jeans but I had to say, that suit on him looked fabulous). He threw that on his jacket and I looked up at him.

“What –?” I started but he grabbed my hand and dragged me up the stairs.

It was then I knew what and my belly dipped.

Grandma Miriam was out of the house.

We had it to ourselves.

Until ten.

And yesterday, the floodgates had been opened.

Here comes the flood.

Oh my.

My heart jumpstarted, ticking over fast so by the time we got to the top of the stairs, I felt every beat.

When we got to the top, instead of going left to my room, he took us right.

To his.

I’d never seen his room even though it was across from the bathroom. The door had always been closed.

For some bizarre reason, I couldn’t wait for that either.

In record time Gray had me down the hall, his hand went out, turned the knob and he pulled me into his room.

I understood his hurry, I knew his intent but still, walking in his room the first time, I came out of myself and just stared.

This was because it was like we walked into a different house.

No doilies. No flowers. No pastel carpets. No pretty quilts.

The walls were the color of his shirt, a dark blue/gray. The furniture was heavy, masculine, dark wood, all angles, squares, rectangles with no-nonsense manly etching in the drawers and cabinets.

The house was tidy and clean, although full of stuff.

His room wasn’t tidy and clean or full of stuff. No trophies he won playing sports as a youngster, ribbons displayed. Over the bed there was a huge black and white photo of the Colorado Mountains that I knew was taken by Cotton, a famous photographer who lived in said mountains. There were jeans, boots, long-sleeved tees and flannel shirts in tangles on the floor. Books on the nightstands, so many of them, they overflowed to the floor. There was change in a small bowl on one of his dressers. Sturdy, manly matching lamps on the nightstands and another one on the low bureau.

And that was it. No other decorative touches. Nothing.

And the bed was huge.

Huge.

Squared off head and footboard with slats, dark gray cover covering a down comforter, dark blue sheets. There were six pillows, six in disarray at the head of the unmade bed.

“Boots off, darlin’,” Gray muttered, my body jolted and my eyes flew to him to see him pulling at the knot in his tie.

“Wha…what?”

“Boots…” his eyes locked on mine and the fever in them corresponded in heat flooding my body, “off.”

Oh…

My.

I dropped my head, lifted my foot and pulled off my boot. Then I did the same with the other.