when I step into his space, it feels wrong. There’s something intrinsically intimate about being in this man’s room. An unnerving level of comfort that makes me squirm. Another fireplace sits in the corner of the room with two chairs off to the side and a huge bed anchoring the space. The furniture looks well-loved, not brand new. And it dawns on me that this isn’t a space meant to be seen. This is a private space he’s comfortable in. And I’m not sure if I’m comfortable being in here. I like flirty Hudson. He’s easy to spar with. He’s easy to disregard as a serious threat to my heart.
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