She expected him to hesitate again, but this time he joined her instantly, glancing around at the inside of her small house. Because most of the bottom floor was the storefront for the salon, she had a tiny living room and an equally tiny kitchen. Her bedroom and bathroom upstairs were much bigger, but she didn’t mind the small size since it was just her there. Hank seemed to eat up most of the entry hall, though, and she suspected he’d eat up most of the living room, too. Or any room he entered, really.

He stepped inside and eyed her place. It was a little . . . okay, it was super girly. Greg had lived with her off and on throughout their relationship, and she’d picked a lot of neutral things for their shared living space. Now that he was gone, she’d veered toward the other end of the spectrum. Romantic prints of paintings covered the pale purple walls—Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss, Waterhouse’s The Lady of Shalott, a Degas with ballerinas. She had leafy plants on her coffee tables and delicate lacy white pillows tossed over her purple sofa. Everything was ultra girly, because she liked girly things.

But Hank only looked around and then sat down on one end of her sofa as if he was surrounded by girly stuff all the time.

“Can I get you a drink? Popcorn?” she asked, setting her purse down on the counter.

“Sure.”

Becca hurried over and handed him the remote to her wall-mounted television. “You pick something to stream. I’ll handle the snacks.” She kicked off her high heels and curled her toes in the carpet, then headed into the kitchen. Once the popcorn was in the microwave, she pulled off her dangly earrings and let her hair down. If they were going to watch a movie, she wanted to relax. Would he pick something funny? Something sexy? She wondered if he was going to send her a quiet message with his movie choice and hoped that was the case. After all, if she sat down and he’d picked Fifty Shades of Grey, she knew she was in for some hard-core making out.

And, oh gosh, she wanted some hard-core making out. It felt as if it had been so long since she’d been touched. Just thinking about it made her ache.

She rejoined Hank and sat on the other end of her couch, curling her legs under her as she handed him the popcorn bowl and a drink. The movie started, and she bit her lip, wondering what they were about to watch . . .

It.

They were about to watch a horror movie about a killer clown.

She turned to him. “Really?”

Hank’s brows furrowed. “You said I could pick. Is this bad?”

“No, of course not,” she said hastily. “I’m just surprised is all.”