Page 85 of Floodgates

“No,” he told her. “Chief Ripley is sending an officer here to stay at the house with you and Breckin. Tracy and I will be at the Den of Antiquity off Main Street, which is apparently an excellent B&B as well as a top-notch antique shop for the serious aficionado of all things dated.”

I turned and looked at him and could not hold back the laughter. “The Den of Antiquity?”

He was trying not to smile. “Yep.”

“You made that up.”

He was smiling at me as he shook his head, stepped into my personal space, and took hold of my chin.

“Can we get a room together?” I asked breathlessly.

“Oh yes,” he promised, his voice silky and low.

I stifled the whimper as Michelle invited us all inside.

There was a maid there, Rita, and she welcomed Breckin home before walking over with a tray of spiced cider and hot chocolate. I wanted neither, but I thanked her for the offer.

“Oh,” I said, amazed when I stepped into the stunning house.

John walked up beside me. “You like my home, Tracy?”

“I do, sir, very much.”

“Would you like the tour?”

“If you don’t mind,” I said, taking off my sunglasses and putting them in the pocket of my jacket, leaving on the chunky scarf and my wool beanie.

John was pleased to play tour guide; it was written all over his face.

I was the only one who went with him. We started one floor down, in the basement, which was finished, decked out with a library, offices for him and Michelle, a game room and a media room.

“Your basement is bigger than my whole house.” I grinned at him.

He walked me out to the garage and pointed out the door to his wine cellar and his workshop, where he tinkered with brass and silver. He made wind chimes, which he sold on eBay.

“Huh,” I grunted.

“I’m crafty,” he teased me.

Up the stairs we went back in the kitchen and then moved into the great room, where everyone was now sitting.

“Tracy, I hope he’s not boring you to death,” Michelle called over to me.

“Oh no, ma’am,” I assured her, smiling at Cord.

He tipped his head at me before I followed after Mr. Alcott, and he showed me the wood-burning stove and the antique Revolutionary War musket that hung over the fireplace.

We went up a flight of stairs to the floor with all the bedrooms, six in all, plus a sitting room and a two-person sauna.

“These windows are beautiful,” I remarked.

“Thank you, Tracy. It’s wonderfully satisfying to show you around my home.”

He led me up last set of stairs into a loft that was basically an open floor that looked like it had once been a play area and was now cozy with pillows and a privacy screen and small windows that opened at the bottom and pushed out.

“It’s very ‘oasis in the desert’ up here,” I said, pointing to the hammock, the throw pillows, and the low table.

“It is, you’re right, except for that side.”