“Wow.It’smagnificent.”
Before I can open her door, she hops out and stares up at mytwo-story personal heaven.
“Did you design it?”she asks.
“It’s been in my family for generations.We’ve just madeimprovements along the way.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.Come on.”
I offer her my hand, and she slips her fingers between mine,leaning on my arm as we walk.The contact, being so close to her, sends myheart slamming against my chest.I take a deep, steadying breath and lead herinside.
“Drink?”I offer.
“Please.”
She follows me to the kitchen, openly admiring the décor.Good.It will be her home pretty soon.I pour two glasses of Dom Romanée-Contiand hand one to her.
“Conti, huh?Aren’t you Mr.Fancy Pants?”
“Only the best for you.”
“Mm-hmm,” she answers, the sound rife with skepticism.
“Come on.I’ll give you a tour.”
***Casey***
Wow.This place is gorgeous!It’s spacious, secluded, andelegantly decorated.He has good taste.The size of it surprised me; I wasexpecting a small log cabin, not a country mansion.My dad would love thisplace.He wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become an architect, butthat just isn’t for me.I absorb the sight before me—marble floors, highceilings, everything in varying shades of brown.A winding staircase leads to asecond floor that’s probably just as beautiful as the first.
I follow him around as he gives me the grand tour—livingroom, library, office, and family room.The last has to be my favorite so far.I can easily see a family spending many evenings here… kids playing, parentswatching TV.There’s a powder room, and he informs me that there are twobathrooms upstairs.As we move through the house, he explains the significanceof some paintings and sculptures.I watch his lips as he speaks and can’t helpbut wish he would just shut up and kiss me.A huge portrait of an older couplecatches my eye, and I move toward it.
“Are these your parents?”I ask.
“Yes.”
“Wow.You look just like your dad.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He really does.That’s probably exactly how he’ll look athis father’s age.They have the same eyes, nose, lips, and hair, except his father’sis greying.His mother is beautiful, regal even.She shows few signs of aging,not even a wrinkle.Her blonde hair is perfectly styled, blue eyes sparkling,full lips pouting at the camera.They look great together—a striking couple.
Next to the portrait, are smaller group photos.In one, Ethanis surrounded by five men.Now, these are obviously his brothers.There’s nomistaking it.He points to each one as he tells me their names.
“Josh, Taylor, Michael, Andrew, and… Kyle.”
There is a hint of sadness in his voice when he says Kyle’sname.The hurt in his eyes affects me to the point where I think I can feel hispain.I touch his arm, and he turns to me.
“Kyle was the oldest.He was killed four years ago in afight.”
“Oh.I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.I just… I really looked up to him.Now I’m the oldest,and everyone’s looking to me.”
I slip my hand into his, lacing our fingers.He’s hurt, andI have no idea why, but I have a bone-deep need to comfort him.“Well, fromwhat I’ve seen, you’re a great role model.Having more men like you around is agoodthing.”
The sadness vanishes from his eyes and he smiles.
