My eyes scanned the inside of his room. It wasn't a big bedsitter, but he'd managed the space neatly — the white walls contrasting against his bed frame, an office-like chair at the side, a small cluster of scripture verses framed on the wall. I smiled at the sight of them, somehow not surprised.
"You can sit here," he said, dragging the chair out for me. Oh, how I was falling in love with him more by the second. He was such a gentle man, everything I'd ever wanted in a person. I might be nineteen, but I know what I want, and Emma was exactly what I wanted. I sat down while he took a seat on his bed, picking up a hard-covered book that looked like a diary and began writing in it, mumbling quietly to himself. My eyes stayed fixed on him. Damn, I was in Emma's room. My mind raced with everything that meant.
