Rowan

I think he’s my boyfriend now?

I wake up in Keir’s bed to the sound of the shower running, the bathroom door slightly ajar. This is the fourth night this week I’ve stayed over, and just yesterday he gave me a spare toothbrush, cleared out a drawer in his dresser for me, and put my favorite Greek yogurt on his next grocery order.

Lately I’ve been testing him just for the fun of it. Half the time I think he thinks I’m joking, the other half of the time he plays along, like it doesn’t concern him one bit that I’m asking what his favorite baby names are.

For the record, he loves Mia for a girl and Marsden for a boy.

Grabbing the remote off the nightstand, I flick on the TV and tune into the local morning news to check the weather and see what’s going on outside this sex fortress. The anchor and the weather guy are chatting about fall and pumpkin spice lattes when my phone begins to vibrate next to me.

Muting the TV, I glance down and see Spencer Calloway calling.

My heart quickens. It’s been weeks since my interview. I figured my resume was in the circular file, my name long since forgotten.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Rowan Aldridge,” he says. “It’s Spencer Calloway.”

“Hi, Mr. Calloway. How are you?” God, I sound like a social moron, but it’s early and he caught me off guard.

“Rowan, I’m just calling to let you know I haven’t made my decision yet,” he says, speaking quickly, like he has somewhere to be. “But I wanted you to know you’re a finalist. It’s down to three of you now. I hope to decide soon, but in the meantime, I know you’re looking for a job so if you get an offer, will you let me know right away?”

“Of course.”

“All right. We’ll be in touch.” Spencer hangs up, and I peer across the room to see Keir standing at the bathroom sink, a white towel wrapped low around his waist as he brushes his teeth. His dark hair is wet, disheveled, and his skin is damp and glistening.

A trail of humid air carrying the spicy scent of his body wash makes it my way, and I pull the familiar scent into my lungs, wondering if I’d miss it if I took the job.

To be honest, I didn’t expect to hear from Mr. Calloway, and I’ve been so busy spending time with Keir that I wasn’t thinking about what would happen if shit got real.

Keir emerges a few minutes later, dressed for the day and smelling like a million bucks. He strides across the room, stopping to grab something from his top dresser drawer. Turning toward me, he places a square velvet box on the bed beside me.

“Happy birthday.” He smiles, flashing his perfect grin as he slides his hands in his pockets.

“How … did you know it was my birthday?” I tilt my head. “I never told you when it was.”

Keir winks. “I have my ways. Come on. Open it.”

Cracking the lid on the velvet box, I find a small gold pendant on a dainty gold chain.

It’s a jet.

Like that day we spent at Gravelly Point.

“Keir.” I glance up at him. “Thank you. This is so thoughtful of you.”

He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, but it is.

Growing up, my parents forgot my birthday ninety percent of the time. I’ve never been big into celebrating them in my adulthood—they generally conjure up unpleasant memories of being forgotten, an afterthought.

Shit’s officially getting real.

I think I like him.

For real.

Staring into his intense gaze, I resolve to give him a chance. A genuine chance. No more stage five clinger girlfriend. No more baby names and wedding dresses. He gets the real me from now on.

And he only gets one chance.

“What’s the plan today?” he asks.

I shrug. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“It’s your birthday. We should celebrate.” He takes the spot next to me, taking the pendant and removing it from the delicate box before securing it around my neck.

“I don’t celebrate my birthday. Never have.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “It’s your first birthday with me. We should do something special.” Pulling me into his lap, he cups my face. “If you could go anywhere right now, where would it be?”

Staring to the side, I twist my mouth. “Somewhere I’ve never been before.”

“That’s incredibly vague. Can you narrow it down?” He smirks, twisting a tendril of my hair around his finger before letting it fall to my shoulder. “Wait. I know.”

I slide off his lap as he heads for the other side of the room, retrieving his phone. Typing out a quick message, he presses send.

“They’re bringing my car around for you,” Keir says. “Run home and pack a weekend bag. Nothing formal. Jeans. T-shirts. That sort of thing.”

“Where are we going?”

“Some place you’ve never been before.”