I give Bram a small smile and we go up the massive staircase and into the rest of the store.

“So,” Bram muses as the floor plans make us start in the living room set ups, just where we need to be. “What kind of couch are you looking for?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. A cheap one.” I eye a humungous sectional right in front of us. “A small one. And one that doesn’t tear easy.”

Bram plops down on the sectional and puts his feet up on the coffee table, making himself right at home. “Well, I hate to break this to you but IKEA isn’t exactly known for their quality. Cheap, yes.”

But I’m no longer listening to him. Instead, my eyes are drawn toward his socks on display. Again, they are the ugly brown and yellow ones with the loch ness monster all over them.

“Okay,” I say, nodding at them, “this is the second time I’ve seen you wear them. What is up with the socks?”

He looks at his ankles, as if he’s surprised to see his feet there. “Oh these? Lucky socks.” But when he smiles at me, there is something hard in those eyes of his. It’s a look I don’t see too often and even though I immediately want to dissect it and figure out what it means, I know I shouldn’t. I’m the queen of deflection and that look tells me he’d give me a run for my money.

Instead I say, “Are they lucky? They are the ugliest things I’ve ever seen. Doesn’t really go with your whole outfit.”

The dark look passes and he eyes me with mocking sincerity. “Are you taking an interest in what I wear?”

“It did used to be my job,” I say. “I mean, I dressed mannequins but I made sure they were the best dressed mannequins in the whole of SF.”

“I believe it,” he says. “For a woman without a lot of money, you sure manage to make yourself look like a million dollars.” He gets up off the couch and I’m kind of stunned at the compliment. Believe it or not, it means more to me than he could know. I used to have a fashion blog years ago when it was cool and profitable, and I took so much pride in how I dressed. Now, it just didn’t seem important anymore.

No, scratch that. It wasn’t that it wasn’t important. It’s just I found it no better than the crazy glue holding my kitchen table together. I could dress up but deep down I was still a fucking mess.

Except today I actually did dress up a bit. I put on a pair of Alexander McQueen ankle boots from many years and many seasons ago, skinny jeans from Old Navy (which I got on sale for $4) and a Petite Bateau Breton striped topped. It’s a little threadbare at this point but it still makes my rack look fantastic. Let’s face it, it’s why I’m wearing it and from the way Bram’s eyes keep flitting there, I can tell he appreciates the effort.

“Thank you,” I tell him, fumbling for a way to play off his compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself. You know, aside from the poo and pee socks.”

He bursts out laughing. “Poo and pee? You’ve been hanging around Ava too long, my love.”

“Probably,” I admit and we carry on down the aisle. So far, none of the couches I’ve spotted are exactly what I’m looking for and I’m getting tired of sitting down and getting up again to try them out.

Finally we come across an area where a lot of the armchairs are and there’s something that catches my eye. It’s a small loveseat with bright yellow fabric and metal legs. I gravitate toward it and look at the price tag. It’s under a hundred bucks. I could get two of them, they’d fit with my décor and they look pretty easy to assemble as well.

“Seriously, this?” Bram asks, eyeing the couch with distain. “How are you going to have me over? I’ll break the damn thing if I sit on it.”

“Try it,” I coax him and watch as he lowers his large frame onto the couch.

He winces. “The most uncomfortable couch I have ever had my arse in.”

I sit down beside him. It’s snug. Really snug. My leg is smushed up against his and that wonderfully hot, male smell of his is teasing me. But other than that, he’s right. It’s pretty bare bones in the padding department.

But the price is right. “I have lots of pillows,” I tell him, attempting to get out of the couch. “I could make it work.”

And I’m really working my abs trying to get out of the damn thing. Bram is absolutely no help. He reaches for my collar and pulls me back down beside him.

“You know if we were a couple,” he says, sliding his arm along the backrest so it’s hovering behind my shoulder, “this would be the perfect couch for us. We’d never get up. We’d have to sit here in each other’s company for eons.”

“Thank God we don’t have to deal with that,” I say and now his arm is right on my shoulders, his hand curling around and holding me to him.

“It isn’t so bad,” he says, his voice sounding a bit gritty. “Is it?”

“I can’t believe you’re putting the moves on me in IKEA,” I joke, making an attempt to rise again. I don’t make it far. I guess my attempt was rather half-hearted.

He takes his arm off and jerks his head back, an incredulous look on his face. “You think this is me putting the moves on you? Oh, sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet. My moves make you hot, sweaty and breathless, moaning my name. They don’t have you cracking jokes.”

I don’t dare admit that there is something breathless about our proximity to each other. “They would have me coming up with a motto though, right?”

He grins broadly and I notice that crooked tooth on the bottom, which adds a rugged charm to his already too perfect face. “Wham, bam, thank you Bram is a good one.”

I shake my head. “You’re too much.”

“I am too much,” he says and he somehow manages to get to his feet. “But I have faith you can handle me.” He holds out his hands for me and when I place mine in his, admiring how small and delicate they look compared to him, he pulls me up.

“Thanks,” I tell him, adjusting myself after the mini couch nearly held us captive. “By the way, you’re always so tan. Is that fake or do you just get to go to nice hot places all the time?”

He seems a bit too pleased at my question. “Why, Nicola, I’m flattered that you’ve noticed my skin tone. First it was my socks, now the color of my skin. I’m starting to think that perhaps you’re interested in more than my landlording skills.” I cross my arms, one leg askance and give him the “are you kidding me?” look. He continues. “I have a few favorite spots where the sun shines even when it doesn’t in this grey city.” He pauses and his gaze is steady. “And I’d be more than happy to take you and Ava sometime.”

Whoa. I look at him, used to his generosity and all but a trip together seems to say something else entirely. “What about Linden and Steph?” I ask cautiously.

He lazily lifts a shoulder. “They can come too. It kind of interferes with my whole seducing thing though.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Seducing thing?”

He flicks his finger at me. “Just you wait for it.” But then he strolls over to the kiosk nearby and gets a card and one of those small pencils and writes down the product information of the couch and where to find it in the warehouse. He waves the card at me. “I got all the details of your horrid little couch.”

“Thank you,” I tell him and we continue on our way, even though Bram keeps looking over his shoulder at a nice futon. I nudge him playfully. “I’ve made up my mind, I can’t afford the futon and the yellow couch is cute. And cheap.”

“It’s going to be a real shit to assemble.”

“I’m an old pro,” I reassure him. “And I’ve got a neighbor who seems to know how to wield a tool.” I glance at his smug face and quickly add, “Not that Allen keys are all that complicated.”

When we head toward the bathrooms, Bram grabs my hand and quickly pulls me aside. “I have a dare for you.”

“A dare?” I repeat. I know that Steph and Linden had their first real kiss because of a dare but I’m not sure what Bram has in mind. Dares are dangerous, usually embarrassing and, well, kind of immature. I think I was eleven years old when I last had a dare and it involved trying to tip over a cow in the middle of the night.