Glancing down, I smooth over the cotton of my vintage-style t-shirt that I conveniently found in emerald green, and brush a spec off the toe of my new white and grey New Balances. To be fair, I liked these shoes when I saw them in the store, and my old pair was worn and faded. Still, Brooke did mention that the Montgomerys have a thing for athleisure. And, I mean, if green is my color—with my hair and my eyes—I might as well lean into it anyway…
Go Gators!
I tuck a wispy hair back into the French braid I nearly tore my shoulder doing myself. Apparently, braids are Ruthie's signature look, and I know of no better way to get in with a preteen girl than to match her style. It was only an added bonus when I realized how much I actually love my hair done this way.
Grabbing the bread from the passenger seat, I take one deep breath before throwing the car door open. I step out, grateful that the morning breeze is still here to help calm my nerves and stifle my adrenaline, and I pause just long enough to really take in the house. Considering the circumstances before my interview, I didn't really have time to do it before.
It's beautiful—big, but not in an overdone way. It's two levels—the top a light grey vinyl outlined in modern trim, and the bottom decorated in a beautiful whitewashed stone. The covered front porch runs along the length of the front, supported by clean white pillars with a potted plant on either side of the door. There are two wooden rocking-style chairs underneath the front bay window, turned slightly toward each other as if waiting for someone to sit awhile. A waving Gators flag hangs on the pillar closest to the two-car garage that overlooks the driveway, the green and yellow bright against the neutral foundation.
How did I miss that before?
The house sits at the center of a perfect Golden City spring—more green grass around it than I've seen in months. It looks like a family lives here, which is true. But despite the traces of a woman's touch, thanks to Alex and Brooke, I know it's always been just Liam and Ruthie. Still, I can't help wondering if there's an expectation—or current plan—for more people to fill it someday.
Reminding myself that it's none of my damn business, I walk toward that dark green front door. I attempt to stop my anxious grip from completely squishing my peace offering and practice my greeting in my head.
Good morning, Liam.
Hi, Mr. Montgomery.
Hello, thank you for the opportunity, sir. Please enjoy these carbs.
When I step onto the porch, I take one last breath, preparing myself to come face-to-face with Liam and wondering which version of him I'll get today. I knock hard twice, immediately questioning if that was enough, but also feeling like adding more now comes off weird and impatient. Luckily, footsteps grow louder on the other side of the door before I can paralyze myself with the decision.
When the door opens, I'm forced to drop my head, which was turned upward prepared for Liam's giant frame. Instead of his 6'3," maybe 6'4" body, I'm met with someone smaller—more petite.
Less grouchy grown man and more bubbly almost-preteen girl.
"Hi!" she squeals, her face brighter than her neon yellow soccer jersey.
I blink as if adjusting to light rather than the unexpected view in front of me. "Hi," I eventually echo, meeting her excitement.
The girl with brown hair, two pigtail braids, and Liam's face—just more feminine and twenty-five years younger—sticks out her hand. "I'm Ruthie," she says.
I adjust my grip, but before I can meet her palm, she pulls it away and leans in close. "Ooh, is that banana bread?"
I can't help the chuckle that escapes as I hold the loaf out to her. "It is."
"With chocolate chips?"
I scoff playfully. "Obviously."
Her eyes and smile both grow wide as she takes it and scurries into the entryway. "Come in," she urges, waving me inside. "And nice braid."
"Oh, uh…" I hesitate slightly, still thrown by the encounter. "Thanks!"
I step inside as Ruthie scurries toward what I know is the open space that holds the kitchen with stainless steel appliances and an island bigger than my bedroom. It's next to a living room that somehow feels bothsterile and homey at the same time, and still partially visible from the door.
I pause just a few steps in, and just like the exterior, I take in the rest of the house for what feels like the first time.
The entryway is spacious, with high ceilings and natural light filtering in through the windows, with hooks on the wall beside the door and a mat on the floor. There's a staircase to one side with the same warm oak hardwood flooring as the rest of the house and a black railing that gives it more of a masculine edge. A room sits off of it that I can't quite see into, but there's a balcony connected up top that hints at the upstairs. To the other side, separated by French doors with over a dozen windows, is a sitting room with a fireplace and what I can see of half a bookshelf.
"Take off your shoes!" Ruthie calls from the other room. She rips my attention away from my internal debate about whether Liam had someone design and decorate the house or if he did it all himself. "Dad's rule!"
I freeze, my mind shifting from being impressed that an extremely busy, single dad has such a welcoming home, to trying to remember if I did this the last time I was here.
Comfortable sneakers. Running. Liam's bright green swoosh.
Him stepping out of his, and me—nope.
