I rolled my eyes and laughed.
We had breakfast at the diner near the house. They had the best waffles in town, and I was currently pouring an outrageous amount of maple syrup on mine.
“I think you missed a spot,” he said as he chuckled, teasing me.
“Shut up,” I replied, kicking him lightly under the table.
“You call your landlord yet?” he asked, sipping his coffee and eyeing me over his mug.
“No,” I admitted a bit guiltily. There had been a lot going on, to say the least.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
I sighed. “I’ll do it today, okay? I got distracted with everything,” I said honestly.
His expression softened and he nodded. “When do you want to go get the rest of your stuff?”
“Whenever, I don’t have much left over there. I’ll probably sell some stuff. But you could use a lot more kitchen stuff, so I’ll bring that. We can talk about the furniture later,” I said vaguely.
“What’s there to talk about?” he asked with a creased brow.
I’d been dreading this conversation. For so long I’d avoided making any comments about his bachelor pad because it wasn’t my place. Now it was, and yet, I’d still avoided it.
“Babe, your place, it’s a total bachelor pad. You have two leather couches and a giant TV in the living room,” I pointed out hesitantly. I honestly wasn’t sure how this was going to go.
“You gonna paint the walls pink or bring in a bunch of frilly shit?” he asked bizarrely.
As a rule, I didn’t like pink. It just wasn’t my color. I was pretty sure he knew this.
“Um, no,” I replied, surprised at his question.
“Then do what you want.” He shrugged as though it was no big thing. “It’s our place now. It should look like a woman lives there.”
My fork sat poised inches from my mouth waiting to deliver the buttery, syrupy goodness. But I stared at him in shock at his response.
He leaned across the table and stole the bite from my fork, licking his lips.
“Thanks, babe,” I said quietly.
He reached his hand out and squeezed my chin with a crooked grin. He knew what it meant when he said I could make his place ours. But, he also didn’t want to make a big thing of it.
I was good with that, more than good.
He pulled up to the auto shop after breakfast. We hadn’t been here together since he got back in town.
“What are we doing here?” I asked in confusion as I climbed off the back of his bike.
“Your surprise,” he explained, leading me by the small of my back into the garage. There was an absolutely gorgeous dark blue Mustang which caught my eye immediately, and I looked at him with wide, shocked eyes.
This couldn’t be, could it?
“You need new wheels, babe. Your car is shot. I would have had you in something sooner, but this ‘Stang, well it just seemed like you,” he shrugged. “It took me a while to restore it,” he explained.
“You…” I swallowed forcefully, “you restored this car for me?”
He looked down at me with a tender expression. “Yeah, babe, of course I did. You think I’d let some other man do my job for me?” he demanded lightly.
“But, this is too much,” I stammered, completely overwhelmed.