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Blane poured a few things and ice tinkled, then he handed her a tall, thin glass bubbling slightly.
“Care to explain the ‘not exactly?’” she asked while he poured himself two fingers of scotch.
“I have a man that cooks for me, does household things, kind of a butler slash cook slash handyman. He carefully crafted a menu that he could leave for me to serve. For what it’s worth, he encouraged me to take the credit, but my conscience wouldn’t let me.” His smile was sheepish.
“A politician with a conscience? A rare breed.” She took a sip of her drink.
“It’s a curse.”
Anne laughed lightly. “Do I get to see the rest of your home? It’s lovely.”
“I can’t take the credit for decorating. I paid someone to do that. But it’s to my taste and well done. It’s home away from home.” He took her hand again to lead her from the dining room back into the foyer.
“Where’s home if this is home away from home?”
“I have a place in Cape Cod, but my family home is in Indianapolis. I suppose I always think of there when I think of ‘home.’”
He led her down the hallway, which opened into a great room that was dominated by a huge, stone fireplace in which a fire was blazing. The furniture was heavy and masculine, with only one leather piece, so it wasn’t overwhelmingly trying to be “manly.” Another thick rug covered the wooden floor and bookcases lined one wall. An armchair next to an end table held a book, left open and facedown.
“What are you reading?” she asked, picking up the book, fully expecting it to be some treatise on current affairs. She was surprised. “War and Peace? That’s a weighty tome.”
He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. “I thought it would be good to try to read more of the classics, though I’ll confess, it makes me doze more than it probably should.”
Anne laughed, replacing the book. “I congratulate you for the attempt. I don’t give much thought to what others say are books we should read. I read what I want, what interests me.”
“That’s certainly laudable. And bucking the system. I like it.”
It felt intimate, here with Blane in his home. She drifted closer to the warmth of the fire.
“Tell me about your family,” she said. “You grew up in Indiana?”
“I did,” he said, waiting until she took a seat on the couch before sitting himself, draping an arm over the back.
They sat angled toward one another and Anne sipped her drink as he talked.
“It wasn’t a great childhood, but better than most, I suppose. I joined the Navy out of high school.”
Anne waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “No siblings?” she pressed.
Blane hesitated and for a moment, then said, “I have one brother. Half-brother, actually. I didn’t know he even existed until my parents passed away.”
“You didn’t know he existed?” she asked, confused.
“He was the product of my father cheating on my mother,” he explained. “He discarded her when he found out she was pregnant. She later died of cancer and my brother went into the foster care system. I found him and took him in with me.”
Anne was stunned. This was not at all what she’d expected, and she felt there was a lot more to the story than the few sentences he’d uttered so casually. She took a moment to process. It sounded like there was a mountain of backstory and issues unsaid.
“Did your father know she had cancer?” she finally asked.
He nodded, his expression flat. “He was a hard man. I strive to be unlike him in as many ways as possible.”
Okay, then. “He knew she was sick and that his son would be alone, and he did nothing?” It was hard for her to wrap her head around that. She’d been cherished since the day she was born by two loving parents who had doted on her.
“No, he didn’t. I strove to make it right, but it had been a few years since she’d passed by the time I found him.”
“I didn’t find any of this on Google.”
“I don’t publicize it. My brother likes his privacy and so do I. It’s not anyone’s business anyway.”
