I have deemed Nathan as an apartment guy. He's lived in one when he moved out of his parents and we chose one together when we got married. Which is why I have a mammoth-sized confusion when we skipped the high-rise apartment buildings behind.

My brows knit in confusion when we passed the busy streets and to a quieter road. Then a rustic-style cabin that's both masculine and homey came into view surrounded by trees. It has more trees than neighbors. If there were any, still within walking distance but takes probably a five-minute walk.

Hesitantly, I pushed the car door open. "This is your place now? What happened to your apartment?"

"I figured I wanted a house for when you guys come home for the holidays." He clambers out of the car, Ethan following suit.

"I never visit for the holidays, but I appreciate it," I quipped.

The inside of the house was a surprise. I didn't have the privilege to envision the interior, let alone a new house, given I had little time to absorb the news that he ditched his own apartment for an isolated house.

They lead me to their 'hangout' which is right through the French doors of his impressive kitchen, to the deck off the back of the house. Ethan tugs me toward the café table with four chairs tucked in a corner by the pool. The back of the house is guarded by trees with birdhouses hanging in each branch.

I thought birdhouse-making was more of an indoor activity, maybe a popsicle stick project but I'm wrong. Yet again.

Given all that, I presumed making birdhouses has developed into some sort of bond between Ethan and his dad. As if to further prove my theory, they went hand in hand to the shed to get the tools. I tilted my head, contemplating whether to sit still and look pretty while they have some father-son bonding time or do a little detour around the house.

The latter sounded more appealing, so back inside the house I went.

The furniture is a little old-fashioned and interesting. I thought Nathan would opt for dark and modern, but the warm colors are surprisingly a lot homier. Ethan had his own room. There's one guestroom – very accommodating both in size and closet. There's one more room I haven't checked out, so I turn to what looks like the master's bedroom.

I open the door, picturing a classic bachelor pad behind the door.

It wasn't.

There was a king-sized bed with light gray bedding and matching pillowcases. It was so... neat. I've been in Nathan's bedroom before – normally for just a little hangout and maybe, some makeout sesh – but it was waayyyy back.

I wandered over to his walk-in closet. I don't know what took over me but I just I stepped into his closet, convincing myself that I wasn't snooping. There were mostly dark suits, little of the flannel shirts he wears whenever he visits. White shirts have taken up quite a space. He has racks of neutral colored ties, but there were fewer conservative colors on the other rack too.

"I thought you got lost."

I jumped, putting a hand on my thudding chest. "Nathan, you scared the crap out of me."

His brows went up, eyes speculative. "Sorry. You found anything interesting skeletons in my closet?"

My cheeks burned a little. "There weren't any interesting T-shirts I can borrow and never return."

Nathan chuckles.

"I thought it'll be a bachelor pad in here." I gestured around me, just to make him look anywhere but my searing face, because checking out someone's closet suddenly feel like checking them out.

"You've stripped me of that title when you married me."

I snorted, stepping out of the walk-in closet. "Says the guy who can date any woman he likes because his son doesn't disapprove."

"That's not true."

"Stop being so modest. You're a hot divorced man." I waved a dismissive hand.

He chortles. "You think divorced men are hot?"

I rolled my shoulders. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Okay, maybe a little. I don't share the details of my fantasies," I wink playfully.

He shakes his head, laughing.

"Let's go back to Ethan." I jerked a thumb to the door. It had me thinking about dating, and what my mom and sister suggested. What could it hurt to give some of those second chances away? I might be doing myself a favor.

Audrey Danler swore to forget that one drunken wedding hookup she had with Vren Parkinson. It was definitely doable. Except that one mistake resulted to a positive pregnancy test. And now she's stuck with a man she would've never bat an eye at when she's sober. It was supposed to be just a mistake. Not a commitment.