She trailed her fingers over the back of one chair. “This is incredible.”
Rome let her wander around, inspecting everything from small objects on the mantel to paintings on the walls. Then he wrapped his fingers around hers and gave her a small tug.
She let him lead her to the next space. When they walked into a spacious kitchen, she stopped in her tracks, overwhelmed by the patina of old steel under dust. Industrial ranges and a walk-in cooler similar to downstairs lined the walls. And then—she gasped—a massive stand mixer sat in the corner like a forgotten monument.
“Rome! Look at this thing.” She ran her hand over the big bowl.
She gripped the crank and tried to turn the gears, but nothing happened. They were frozen solid, welded together by decades of disuse.
“It’s seized up.” Her voice echoed around the room with disappointment. But as soon as she opened a cupboard, she gasped with delight again.
The whole place was a treasure hunt, well-preserved, not looted or ruined by vagrants and gangs like the abandoned places in Chicago.
She found some pans that weren’t warped, and several loaf pans she could use. She turned to him. “Can we take these?”
His eyes twinkled, reminding her of her parents on holidays and birthdays when they’d watch her open presents, and her heart tripped.
“Take whatever you want.”
She sent a longing look at the mixer again. “It’s too bad the mixer doesn’t work. And I don’t have a cast iron dutch oven. I could focus on my bread-making skills and so many other things.”
“Maybe we’ll put in a request.”
She laughed and kept moving, opening drawers that stuck before releasing with a puff of stale air. “If this place was in Chicago, nothing would be left of it.”
“That’s because of the people living downstairs.”
She studied him from the corner of her eye. Her lover. Her protector. There was so much more she wanted to know about Jack Rome. She only hoped she had a little more time left.
She filed away that unexpected insight and kept moving.
They found a hot tub in what used to be a spa room, the water long evaporated, the jets crusted with mineral deposits. She traced the cracked edge, imagining what it must have looked like full and steaming, guests soaking after a day on the slopes.
“Too bad it’s broken.” She swung toward Rome and planted a hand on his chest.
He stilled, staring down at her.
She trailed her hand down his chest, lower, until it rested just above his belt. “Would be a shame to waste the opportunity if it was in operating order.”
His eyes glimmered. “Oh, everything is in operating order. I assure you.”
She tossed her head with a laugh and moved on, leaving him standing in the dust.
Room after room revealed something new. A game room with a pool table that had felt rotted in patches. A library with shelves of paperbacks gone soft and curling at the edges. One of the guest rooms had a bedspread with a pattern that made her eyes hurt, and a closet that still held a forgotten coat.
She gathered a small collection of things to take with her. From the resort’s gift shop, she picked up a brass keychain shaped like a ski and a stack of pretty postcards.
Then she found the painting.
It was tucked in a corner of what had been a sitting room—a small, abstract piece in blues and golds. A little dated but genuinely lovely. The kind of thing she’d find in a thrift shop and place on her own wall.
Immediately, she thought of the niche Jolie had created downstairs. Her friend had showed it to her with a little hint of pride in her voice—a simple desk pushed into an open spot on the wall, and a few personal touches she’d added that made the concrete warmer and more inviting.
She stared up at the painting that was hung a little high for her to reach. “I want to take that for Jolie.”
When Rome stepped up behind her, his body heat washed over her, leaving her tingling with awareness. And his scent…the soap and mountain air…flooded her veins with heat and desire.
He reached over her head and lifted the painting from the wall. When he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, heightening her senses even more.
