“Your loss.” I follow him up the short flight of steps leading to the bright red front door. I let out a longing sigh, trailing my fingers over the cherry paint. “I love a pop of color on the front door.”

He turns a key in the lock and pushes the door open. “It was brown when I bought it. I decided to paint it red.”

I wait for the rest of that thrilling story, but Jack just awkwardly sweeps his arm out, gesturing for me to enter. Taking a deep breath, I pray the inside isn’t some kind of disgusting frat house bachelor pad. I even close my eyes as I step into the front room, crossing my fingers before opening them, scared all of my just-developed dreams might be dashed. I squint, slowly inching my lids open.

Oh god.

It’s good.

Real good.

It’s so so so good.

Definitely better than my last five one-night stands. Combined.

The front room is open and inviting, the walls a bright white, original molding still in fantastic shape. A comfortable-looking sofa sits across from a brick fireplace surrounded by built-in bookshelves, filled to the brim. In the back of the first floor is the biggest New York kitchen I’ve ever seen, with white cabinets and butcher-block counters. Bar stools line the peninsula, and a wooden farm table separates the living space from the kitchen. Behind the kitchen, a pair of French doors lead out into what I assume is the backyard.

My mouth is just permanently open from this point on.

Jack lets me look around, leaning against the arm of the couch while I explore the first level on my own.

When I reverently run my fingers along the perfectly worn wood countertops, he gestures to a staircase leading to a lower level. “The basement is kind of a hangout space. Couch, TV, pool table.”

“Video game console?” I give his nerdy T-shirt a pointed look before making my way back toward the front and the stairs leading to the upper levels.

“Every single one you could ask for.” He says it like that’s some sort of accomplishment, gesturing for me to make my way upstairs.

The man might be awkward, but I like that he doesn’t flinch under my snarky words. If we’re going to be roommates—and I’ve already decided we’re going to be roommates—he’s going to have to get used to my sharp tongue.

“Your room would be the one on the left.”