“You’re always fuckable.” He stands and walks over to me, his presence captivating. He wraps his hands around my waist and I stretch up on my toes to be able to reach his neck. He starts to bend to kiss me and I cover his mouth with my hand.
“Nuh-uh. Nice try. You can’t mess up this.” I point at my face. “It took too long to get perfect.”
“It was already perfect,” he grumbles.
“I’m sure your father wouldn’t appreciate me showing up with my lipstick smeared. Save it for later.”
“Fine,” he relinquishes.
I grab my clutch off the coffee table. “We should go. Is he sending a car again?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m driving. There must not be anyone at this dinner h
e’s worried about impressing if he’s letting me drive my truck.”
Jace looks away and out the window. I feel like there’s very much a part of him that craves his father’s acceptance, while also realizing that nothing he ever does is going to be good enough for that man. With his mom gone, I think he’s been very much alone in the world.
But not anymore.
“All right,” he says as he takes my hand, “let’s go.”
“It’s smaller than I expected,” I say when we pull up outside the colonial-style two-story home. “I mean, it’s still large, but I was expecting … gargantuan.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I can see how you’d get that impression, but no, this is where I grew up. I’ve always been surprised he kept the place.”
“It’s beautiful.”
It really is. A brick pathway leads to the front of the house, and the snow we’ve had covers the ground in a soft white embrace. The driveway is long and winds around the back of the house. Jace follows it and parks outside the garage.
He cuts the engine and breathes out, like he needs a moment to collect himself.
“Ready?” I ask, when he makes no move to leave the cozy warmth of the truck.
He finally nods.
Instead of going in through the garage, we head for the front door. The pathway is neatly shoveled and covered in salt to melt the ice.
At the door, Jace takes another deep breath before ringing the doorbell.
When it swings open we’re met with a woman in a work uniform. “Mr. Kensington is in his office working. He’ll be done in time for dinner,” she tells us, and steps aside so we can come in.
She collects our coats and leaves us in the hallway.
“What now?” I ask, looking around. The foyer is hardwood and the walls are painted a deep blue color. Above us a chandelier hangs from the second-story ceiling.
“Want to see my room?” Jace asks.
“You still have a room here?” I ask.
“If he hasn’t gotten rid of it.” He shrugs. “Last time I was here it was exactly as I left it.”
“I’d love to see it.” I hope he doesn’t notice the eagerness in my eyes, but I’ve always been curious to know what Jace was like when he was younger. This is like a key.
Jace nods toward the stairway that curves through the foyer in an L-shape.
“This way.”
I follow him upstairs and down the hall, passed several closed doors. He finally stops at the last one and his shoulders tense as he inhales a breath. When he lets it out he swings open the door.