Page 142 of Ice Cold Chemistry
Chapter Thirty-Five
Negotiations
Banks
I wake up with a face full of honey-colored hair and Winnie’s leg wedged between mine. I’ve gotten used to how she sleeps by now—like a tornado with zero understanding of personal space. The old me probably would have hated it.
“You’re staring,” she mumbles into the pillow.
I chuckle softly and push her hair aside. “You’re in my bed.”
“Mm.” She pulls the blanket up. “Valid.”
She’s still half asleep, and I just look at her for a second. Part of me still can’t believe she’s here. That this is real.
She opens both eyes and looks at me properly. “What’s going on in there?”
I smirk and reach for my phone on the nightstand. Then I hand it to her without saying anything.
She takes it, squints at the screen, at the real estate listing I’ve pulled up. Wakes up a little more. Pushes up onto one elbow.
“What?” She looks at me. “What’s this?”
“A house.”
Her eyes widen. “This is a seven million dollar house.”
“I know.”
“Why are you showing me this right now?”
“I want you to move in with me.” I pause. “Not here. I want us to have something that’s ours from the start.” I nod at the phone. “That one maybe. The location is good. And the kitchen’s been updated.”
She scrolls through the photos, and I watch her face while she looks at it.
She pulls back and looks at the listing again. The number at the top. “Banks. I can’t—I mean, I don’t have—” She stops. “This is a seven million dollar house. Banks, I’m a yoga instructor.” She says it gently, like she doesn’t want to embarrass me for not thinking this through.
“I know what you do, Win.” I keep my voice easy.
I can see the next protest forming, that independent streak she can’t help, so I get there first.
“Win.” I wait until she looks at me. “I’m not asking you to buy it. I’m asking you to live in it.”
She opens her mouth.
“With me,” I add, in case that wasn’t clear.
She closes her mouth. Looks at the listing. Looks at me.
“This room,” she says quietly, gazing down at a photo of a light-filled sunroom at the back of the house.
“I thought it could be your studio.”
She sets the phone down and looks at me, andI can’t tell what she’s thinking, and it’s maybe the longest three seconds of my life.
“Yes,” she says.
I let out a breath. “Yeah?”
