Whitney bit her lip, taking in her surroundings. Jay’s apartment was nothing like she thought it would be. From what he’d told her, he had a great job in finance and made a sizable salary. He’d never said those exact words, but he’d alluded to it. This apartment reminded Whitney of the one she’d shared with Dan while they were in college, with its stained carpet and mismatched furniture. Not to mention that there were no photos anywhere, just a couple of framed movie posters, a mirror and a bookshelf which housed an array of items, but hardly any books. Plenty of DVDs, though. She thought of her own apartment, the paintings on the wall, and all the pictures of Amelia in various stages of life. Why didn’t he have any personal pictures? Hugging herself, she exhaled slowly.

“A glass of red for the lady.”

Jay wore that genuine, dimpled smile of his as he handed her a half-filled wineglass. His dark hair was tousled across his forehead, and his brown eyes sparkled under the dim lighting in the room. He wore khaki dress pants, a blue collared shirt. It hit her then why this place made her uncomfortable. It didn’t match him. He exuded class, wealth, charm. His apartment didn’t.

Maybe that’s why he’d been hesitant to bring her here. He’d been to her place a few times. She’d entertained the idea that maybe he was married or something. It was why she’d pressed him about coming here. Now she wished she hadn’t.

Jay motioned for her to sit on the couch with him, so she did. Their knees touched, and he flashed her his boyish grin.

When she took a sip of wine, her body began to warm, relax. Why did it matter if his apartment wasn’t what she’d expected? He probably spent money on more important things. Or perhaps he was a saver. Her dad was like that.

“Fail to plan, plan to fail,” he’d say.

“You okay?” Jay asked, his brows furrowing.

“Yeah.” Whitney smiled, feeling silly about her mental freak-out. It’s not like they’d just started dating. She knew Jay. They’d been out countless times. There was no reason to be nervous. She glanced around. “Just admiring your decor.”

He laughed at her joke. “Wish I could take credit for it.”

“Don’t tell me you hired a decorator.”

Again, he laughed. “No. Somehow I think they would do a better job. Actually, this isn’t my place.” The discomfort she felt earlier returned. She shifted on the couch, and took another sip of wine, craving its calming effect. “I mean, I guess it is now. I am paying rent, but my roommate is the one who should get the credit...or the blame—” he winked “—for the decor.”

“You never mentioned a roommate.”