Her giggles turn into peals of laughter. “They’re so ugly!” She wheezes, her knees curling up toward her. “It’s all patterns from the ‘80s, and not in a cool retro way.”
“So, going to make up your own patterns?” I grin over at her.
She nods with a beautiful smile that reaches every corner of her face. “I wouldn’t call myself creative, but I definitely can’t do worse.”
I see the front gates for the estate coming up, and I know I need to warn Callie about Gina before we get to the rest of the guys. I want her to know enough so she’s prepared, but I don’t want to hash out the hell that is my connection to the witch bitch-- and Donovan has a big mouth.
Sitting up straight, I take a fortifying breath. “Callie, about lunch today,” I start, but she’s not listening to me.
Her eyes are huge saucers taking in the massive house sitting up on a large hill that backs up to the miles of tree filled acreage. “That’s your house?”
I slouch back into my seat and sigh. “Yeah. That’s it.”
Chapter 7
Callie
Nolan’s place looks nothing like my old home made of brick, white adobe, and Redland clay tile encompassed in the scrub of the Arizona desert, but the scale and opulence is enough to have me shivering. Wealth can hide many sins.
Nolan enters a code to open the wrought iron gate then drives through, the sporty engine growling as it climbs its way along the winding black lane. Driving up to his home feels a little like falling into a watercolor painting, the surrounding trees and foliage awash in vibrant, fiery hues with splashes of their leaves popping against the dark asphalt.
When we reach the top, the drive divides in two. To a hard right, there’s a circular driveway which appears to lead to the front of the estate. In its center is a huge fountain made of giant, rough stones. Waterfalls pour from its top, feeding into a contained pool that nourishes an array of waterlilies. The estate looks like it’s built from redwood trees and the same beige hued stone as the fountain, giving it a rustic feel that fits within the surrounding forest.
Nolan takes a slight left under a large arch into a courtyard with what looks like another front door, though less showy, as well as several bay doors. Parked out of the way, there’s a black Dodge truck and an old, blue Chevy Tahoe. He hits a button on the touch screen in his dashboard and one of the bay doors slides up. With a few revs of the engine, he rolls into one of many garage spaces.
As soon as the engine cuts off, I hit the button for my seatbelt and crawl my way out of the car. Nolan and I will have to agree to disagree on the merits of safe driving speeds. I don’t care if I currently can’t die; climbing out of a crumpled heap of metal is still not something I want to experience--again.
I throw my backpack over one shoulder and look along the long open garage; several classic cars in different states of repair await Nolan and Connor’s attentions.
“What do you do with the cars once they’re finished?” I ask, glad to be standing on something that doesn’t move.Mental note: Let one of the other boys drive me home.
Nolan unfolds from the car, grabs his messenger bag, and gives me a wry smile over the hood of the very fancy death trap. “Depends. The Shelby over there,” he motions with his head at the car behind me, “I’ll part with over my dead body, but a lot of these I’ll eventually turn over to collectors, museums, or traveling shows. As long as I think they’ll treat them right.”
“So there’s no hangar somewhere filled with more cars?” I challenged with one raised brow.
“Nope. The jet is too busy filling the hangar for me to stuff it with cars,” he retorts, the wry smile turns knowing. “My parents had to set some limitations.”
“Uh huh,” I chortle, trying to focus on the teasing banter between Nolan and I, and not the growing unease in my belly. This place is large enough to house a small village, which means the inevitable-- a shit ton of stairs.
Nolan rounds the car, loops one of my arms through his, and leads me toward a door that appears to go inside. As we walk, I notice engine parts disassembled on a back counter and on the wall, various tools mounted with chalked outlines. Massive tool boxes sit on wheels and are tucked away between counter breaks. There’s a very clear method to Nolan’s madness.
He lets go of my arm to open the door and waits for me to pass him before he closes it behind us. With a warm hand at the base of my spine, he leads me down a long hallway with a few closed doors along it.Doesn’t even have cold hands. I bet he has a reflection, too! Are none of the vampire myths true?
We enter a grand foyer with a large, wrought iron chandelier and a small sitting area with plush chocolate brown armchairs. Sure enough, a massive set of steps sits at one end that split and lead into two different directions. The measly staircase at home doesn’t seem that frightening anymore.
Nolan is digging in his jeans’ pocket when a middle aged woman with brown hair and a warm smile walks in from a door near the stairs. She’s dressed in a knit sweater, jeans, and a pair of comfortable sneakers.
“Nolan, dear, welcome home,” she smiles, wrinkles collecting around her eyes and mouth.
“Hello, Margaret,” he beams, kissing her on the cheek.
The woman looks at me, her warm expression not wavering. “And who have you brought home with you?”
“This is Callie,” he answers, throwing an arm over my shoulders. He squeezes me once to his side then lets me go. “She’s just moved here, and the boys and I thought we’d adopt her.”
She chuckles, radiating Hallmark grade grandmotherly goodness.Who is this woman?She doesn’t look anything like Nolan, so I don’t think she’s a relative.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Callie,” Margaret tells me before focusing on Nolan again. “The others are already in your suite, and I imagine by now, have cleared a sizable chunk out of the afternoon’s offerings.” She winks at me. “Alicia would like to know if they planned to stay for dinner so that she’s sure to make enough.”
