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“You’re not intruding at all.” He moved closer, his shoulders relaxed, his gait confident. “This is a great opportunity for us to become friends.”
Friends? She wanted to be anything but friends with Jack Vaughn. Stop it, Sterling.
“So…you’ll be here. When I’m here. All the time.” Was she asking as the professional organizer trying to manage her time, or to confirm just how hard she would have to work to avoid him? There was no way she’d be able to focus with him in the same room.
“I’ll be working a few shifts here and there, but yes, I’ll be at the house.” That satisfied smile darkened to something a little more intense. Something that sparked a fire in the region she was supposed to be ignoring. “It’ll be nice to have the company.”
Right. Lonely. He didn’t know anything about being lonely. She was positive that his BlackBerry was filled with names of gorgeous models he’d dated over the years.
He leaned against the hallway table, crossing one foot over the other. Heaven help her. The man was sexy. “What exactly will you do?”
“Oh, um…” He sure did like to switch gears. She got back to business. “I’ll take an inventory of your mother’s things and then figure out a plan for storage, disposal, and donation if necessary.”
“Sounds good.” He raised his hand and gestured to the staircase. “Would you like a tour of the house?”
“I’d love a tour.” She grabbed a notebook and pen from her bag and followed him across the foyer, which had a fifty-foot ceiling. The walls that surrounded them curved inward as they got closer to the top.
“This is the sitting room that no one sat in until we came along.” He gestured to a stylish room with a white fabric couch and three matching wingback chairs. A fireplace in the center of the far wall was surrounded by a white mantel. Sterling admired the framed photographs of Vivian Madewood and her boys displayed across the top.
“White furniture and teenage boys?” she asked. “Your mother was a brave woman.”
“Or she had really great fabric cleaner.” He grinned. “The furniture is only a couple of years old.”
He took her through the rest of the first floor—the dining room had an old-world table that sat at least twelve people. Ornate china and silver were housed in a carved hutch and buffet. The kitchen was a chef’s dream. Counter space galore, a Sub-Zero refrigerator, two stovetops, two wall ovens, and the biggest exhaust fan she’d ever seen outside of a professional kitchen.
“How many hours did you and your brothers spend in this kitchen?”
He ran his hand across the granite countertop. “We spent more time in here than we did sleeping. It calmed us somehow.” He stopped and rested his back against the edge of the counter. She lost him for a moment or so, his brain no doubt thinking back to some good memories.
They continued on the first floor past the gym, which held more equipment than the Y she visited on occasion. He led her into the most elaborate den she’d ever seen. A screen took up an entire wall. A leather couch was arranged directly in front of it, and off to the sides and behind were several La-Z-Boy chairs. Large speakers were mounted inside the walls around the room. Along the left wall were floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with DVDs.
“Wow. I bet you never went to the movies. You didn’t have to.” She ran her hand along the back of one of the chairs. She didn’t even have a television until she was fourteen. And even then, it was a puny twenty inches, and only watchable when the bunny ear antennae were feeling up to it.
“We had a lot of fun in here.” He laughed. “This is where we used to bring girls. We had a running bet on which one of us could get the furthest…” He stopped, a small grin appearing on his face. “That’s not really important.”
Laughing, she gripped the back of the chair. He had no reason to be ashamed. “I bet you were the first one.”
He only smiled.
“And your mom was all right with what went on in here?” She found it hard to believe that a woman like Vivian Madewood would agree to teenage fornication in what was supposed to be a family room.
“She wasn’t home every minute of every day.” He gave her a guilty look. Like a kid who’d just stolen a cookie from the jar. “Besides, as long as we weren’t on the street living the lives we escaped, I don’t think she would have cared about a little teenage sex.”
“There’s always a double standard, isn’t there?”
“Maybe. But Vivian would never stand for disrespect. And although it may sound crude what we did in here, only one of us sealed the deal. Although I won’t tell you who.” He winked then grabbed her hand. “Come on, let me show you upstairs.”
They headed back across the foyer to the rounded staircase. Along the white walls hung pictures of the family. The majority were pictures of the boys, alone and together. A strong, fearsome foursome. She wondered if they had always been so happy. One picture in particular caught her attention. Jack as a teenager—far less tattooed but still inked—standing next to Vivian and wearing his graduation cap. Vivian’s smile in the picture was so genuine, and her eyes sparkled with pride. She hugged Jack with the love of a mother. So tiny and
petite, she fit right in under his armpit.
“That’s one of the best memories I have.” He sidled up to her on the step and wiped his finger across the top of the silver frame.
“Your mom was a beautiful woman. You look happy,” she added.
“I didn’t think I’d ever graduate from high school. But Mom made sure of it.”
She loved that they called her Mom. One would think coming into a home as a teenager would douse any chance at the Mom card, but Vivian Madewood was obviously a special woman.
