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“I don’t know if I’d wish her on anyone. My brother-in-law is a great guy. I always tell him he must have some bad karma from another life to make up for.”
“Oh jeez, that’s harsh.”
“My sister is the first to admit she’s a lot to handle. She also knows how much I love her, despite how much shit I give her and vice versa.”
I nod. “Yeah, same with my brothers. Insulting each other is the equivalent of giving out compliments.”
“So, I was thinking I should show you around while you have a break between meals,” he says.
“Yes, I’d love that.”
“We should start with the downstairs since all you’ve seen is this area.” He gestures at the open floor plan that in addition to the kitchen includes a large living room. Built-in bookshelves flank either side of the brick fireplace, and there’s a large sectional that looks like it would be a wonderful place to nap on a cold winter’s day.
I follow him back toward the entryway and he points out the bathroom as we pass by. We stop at a room with open french doors.
“As you can probably tell, this is my office.”
“What an impressive piece of furniture,” I say, gesturing at the substantial desk.
“Thank you. I had it made from trees that came from this property,” he says.
“That’s amazing.”
He moves over to open the front door and we step out onto the stone porch. His eyes scroll up and down my frame. “You’re not really dressed for roaming around the farm, but it’s been dry out, so you shouldn’t get too dirty walking to the paddocks. We can stay on the paved road most of the way.”
“A little dirt never hurt,” I say, my shoulders bouncing with a shrug. “Trust me, chefs know all about getting dirty.”
He chuckles. “That’s good to know.”
“Wait. That didn’t sound the way I planned. I meant dirty as in covered with food, not…” I wave my hand.
“Down and dirty?” He waggles his eyebrows.
My cheeks heating with a combination of attraction and embarrassment, I look out at the beautiful view. “How long have you owned this property?”
“A little over three years.”
As if by some unspoken agreement, we descend the porch stairs and follow the curved driveway until it straightens out.
“Did you renovate the house?” I ask.
“When I purchased this place the house was literally falling down and the barn was dilapidated. I knew what I wanted everything to look like, so I hired an architect and a contractor to make my vision come to life.”
“Was the original house knocked down?” I ask.
“Yes, it had to be. The barn was salvageable, though,” he says as we approach the closest paddock with the miniature ponies.
“Were the animals part of the purchase?”
“Nope. These guys are all rescues in one sense of the word or another. They’ve come from all over the country.”
“Is there a significance to them all being miniature breeds?”
“My mom was fascinated with them and she always wanted to own some. But she passed away when I was in high school.”
“That must’ve been difficult,” I say.
“Yeah, teenage boys are a mess in general between all the raging hormones and thinking they know everything. I was no different in that way.”
