“I wanted to live close to the firehouse too. When this old beauty came on the market, I pounced on it.”
“When was she built?”
“Nineteen ten.”
She took in the well-preserved Georgian home, reflective of that era. “You give Orene’s porch a run for its money.”
“Yeah, her porch is great. When I was a little boy, my uncle would take me to visit Orene. I used to dream about her house. I thought it was the prettiest house in the world.”
“Probably why this one caught your attention. Similar in style. Probably built about the same time.”
“Yeah, only hers has always been well kept. By the time I got my hands on this one, it had been empty for years. It lacked attention, and sort of fell apart.”
“I know how that is,” she mumbled.
He heard her, but he didn’t acknowledge the remark.
“The epitome of Southern refinement. I feel underdressed,” she said, as he ushered her in through the antique seeded-glass-paned front door and into the grand foyer. She looked up. “Even the fixtures are in period. Well done, Tucker.”
“Thank you. I take that as quite a compliment from someone who sells homes for a living.”
“This is outstanding. The way you furnished it minimally, leaving the grandeur of the intricate moldings and textures of the natural marble, granite, wood, and fabrics to shine through, is really well done.”
“Not sure that was my intention, but now that you say it, I guess it does. The kitchen is my favorite.” He led her that way.
“I can smell that lasagna.” She moaned. “If it’s half as good as it smells, I am in for a treat.”
He went through the tall doorway with the transom window above it. “Prepare to be treated.”
She could see why the kitchen was his favorite room in the house. A kitchen should be the heart of the home, and you could feel the beat in this one. “This is like something out ofSouthern Living.” She stopped and turned to him. “You are a complex character, Tucker.”
Filled with pride that she liked it so much, he smiled. The kitchen was all his favorite things from thoseSouthern Livingmagazines his mother had pored over through the years. From the Sub-Zero fridge, and the old-style gas range with the pot filler and double ovens, to the two-drawer dishwasher, which was perfect for a guy who didn’t dirty many dishes each week.
Sheila set the salad dish on the counter, next to where he’d set out plates and silverware.
He pulled the huge pan of lasagna out of the oven. “Sorry, but everything I cook is enough for everyone at the firehouse.”
“Don’t apologize to me, but I’d be willing to bet you had two pieces in your freezer you could’ve thawed rather than make a whole new one for me.”
“That would be true, but I wouldn’t have impressed you.”
“I don’t know. That’s the good thing about Italian food,” she said. “It’s always even better reheated.”
“I’ll be sure to send you home with a doggy bag.” He pulled a bottle of red wine from the wine rack. “Care for wine with dinner?”
“Yes, please.”
“This is from a local vineyard. I like it. Not sure what you’ll think.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.”
He uncorked the bottle, poured two glasses, and then lifted his glass to her. “I’m glad you came to Chestnut Ridge for Christmas.”
“Me too.” Sheila took a sip from her glass. “This is very good.”
“I’m glad you like it. Maybe sometime when you come to visit Natalie, we can all go to the vineyard. They have a nice wine tasting and tours in the spring. In the summer it’s too muggy to enjoy. The owners are friends of mine. Shyam and Sarah. They just got married. They’re terrific. I’ll introduce you.”
“They sound great, and I’ll add touring the vineyard this spring to my list. That sounds like fun.”
