Yup. He’d found the right place.
But it didn’tlooklike the right place.
He’d pictured her in an impeccably maintained, black-painted Victorian mansion. Or some sleek, uber-modern, urban loft, never mind the fact that Marysburg didn’t actually contain any uber-modern urban lofts. At the very least, he’d counted on turrets and a moat.
Instead, she appeared to inhabit a one-story bungalow with dove-gray siding and dark green shutters. All neat and well-painted, but also so…normal. Middle-class.
No moat. No arrow slits. No chrome or black paint to be found.
When she answered her doorbell, her feet delectably bare, he tapped the trim around her entrance. “Green instead of black? This seems so unlike you.”
“HOAs are a bitch.” Her hair swayed around her shoulders as she turned. “Sorry for any disappointment. My next home will be enormous and dark enough to blot out the sun, if that’s any consolation.”
“Some.” He stepped inside and removed his shoes. “I’ll look forward to purchasing a tasteful plant and several evil henchmen as your housewarming presents.”
She snorted. “Don’t bother with the plant. It’ll just die without sunlight, like the rest of you mere mortals.”
“Black and bitter.” He shook his head. “Black and bitter.”
Her laughter trailed after her as she headed toward the kitchen, and he looked around her home for a moment before following her.
Ah. He recognized her here.
Other than a hallway off to the right, the house boasted open sightlines, her kitchen flowing into the living room and dining area. The furniture was surprisingly sparse but unsurprisingly elegant. Mahogany bookshelves along the deep blue walls, lined with paperbacks. A couch and chaise in pewter velvet, separated by a sculptural glass table. A thick, subtly patterned rug underfoot. Heavy curtains—metal-shot silk, he’d guess—framing her windows. A gleaming metallic dining room set, and veined marble countertops. All the other necessary pieces for daily life, also stylish and of unmistakable quality, but nothing extra.
In a hammered silver vase on the glass table, calla lilies provided a splash of contrasting ivory, severe and spare in their beauty. Perfect for this home.
Only the enormous television in the far corner seemed out of place. At least until he remembered the story of her mother and their ever-disappearing TV fund.
His heart twisted at the reminder, and he hurried after Rose.
“Does everything pass inspection?” She donned oven mitts to remove a tray of little pancake-like things from the oven, using her foot to close the door. “Or do I need to start over?”
Irony freighted her voice, but she wasn’t looking at him as she deposited the tray on the stovetop and removed her mitts. Her bare toes began tapping against the dark hardwood planks underfoot.
She cared what he thought of her home.
“It’s you,” he told her. “Which means it’s gorgeous and impeccable.”
With a gentle hand on her arm, he steered her a few safe inches away from the hot pan. Then he wrapped her up tight and simply held her as the weeks-long tension in his body released. After a few seconds, she relaxed into his embrace, leaning into him enough that he gladly bore some of her weight.
She was here, in his arms, bare-faced and dressed in slouchy black clothing, with her hair down, no heels anywhere in sight. In short, wearing no armor.
He loved her, and she cared about him.
They were going to spend the night together.
His life had definitely taken an upswing in recent months.
“Did you fix silver dollar pancakes for me?” He spoke in her ear, remembering how she’d reacted last time. And sure enough, her arms tightened around him in an entirely satisfying manner. “How domestic of you.”
She lifted her head from his shoulder, amber eyes heavy-lidded. “Blinis. I have crème fraîche and caviar to put on top.”
Dear Lord. Either she’d gone all out preparing for his visit, or she must spend twice her salary on food alone.
He could only imagine she’d gotten one hell of a divorce settlement. Although if she was so wealthy, why was she staying in such a decidedly middle-income neighborhood?
“Ah. Caviar-and-crème-fraîche blinis.” He kissed an especially adorable freckle on her cheek. “Like the kind Little Debbie makes.”
