Chet watched Olympia sashay into her kitchen, his heart bumping beneath his breastbone while his mind demanded to know what he was doing in this woman’s penthouse. “Your place is a lot like mine,” he said.
“They’re mirrored,” she said. “And I’ve lived here for over a year, so I’ve done some painting, added some less-hotel curtains.” She flipped a switch and more light filled the space. Hotel rooms could be so dark, and he liked how hers brightened with just one touch.
“Yes, I see your bedrooms are to the left. Mine are to the right.”
“I’m not sure why they’re not exactly the same. My great-great-grandfather designed this building. He was one of the first on the island.”
Chet followed her into the kitchen, and the space seemed big enough for the both of them. “Old buildings fascinate me
