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“When you told me you had a house, I just didn’t expect this. This is…domesticated. You have pumpkins on your stairs.”
“There’s a little girl next door—Penny—and last year, she told me my front porch was sad because I didn’t have any pumpkins.”
“So you got them this year?”
I shrug. “I did.” There’s nothing more humbling than a five-year-old telling you that you need to make your front porch more appealing. I like the kid. She always waits for me to get back from morning runs and often has a glass of lemonade waiting for me in the summer heat. Her parents are both in the financial world and have become good friends of mine. If she wants pumpkins on my doorstep, then I’ll hire someone to put pumpkins on my doorstep.
“I really don’t know anything about you,” she mutters, shifting on her feet.
An intense breeze blows through, lifting the long, curled, red strands of her hair. They dance around her face, almost hitting me in the face with the whipping wind. She laughs, trying to tuck the stray pieces behind her ear.
We’d been at her apartment for over an hour as she gathered everything she needed to move in with me. I told her I’d hire someone to move whatever she couldn’t pack in a bag. Instead, she opted for two large suitcases, saying she couldn’t narrow it down to a single bag.
“It’s just pumpkins,” I finally say, trying to not get distracted by the urge to push the hair from her face.
“It isn’t, though,” she says under her breath. “I guess let’s go inside and see whatever new things I’m going to discover about Archer Moore.”
“My full name isn’t necessary. I’m just Archer.”
She smiles. It’s the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen because her entire face lights up with it. “Well,just Archer, show me our home.”
I gesture for her to walk ahead of me, trying not to focus on the way she easily saidour homelike it was the most natural thing in the world.
“After you,wife,” I tell her, lifting both her suitcases and following her up the stairs.
She laughs when she points at the absurd number of pumpkins that run up both sides of the cement stairs. “Are we going to carve them for Halloween?”
I frown, setting the luggage down long enough to unlock the front door. I’ve had my house staff busy all day trying to make this place seem less like a house and more like a home. The moment I open the door, I notice there are candles and actual decorations on the walls.
They did good.
Winnie stops in the entryway, her eyebrows raised high on her forehead as she looks around the space. “You’re joking. This isn’t your place.”
I set her bags in the corner, content in watching her look around my space. My father thought it was strange for me to buy a house here instead of opting to live in the heart of the city. But I like things a little bit more quiet—as quiet as you can still get in this city.
Central Park is pretty much in my backyard, but it still feels different than being up high in a penthouse apartment. Sure, everyone around me moved here because they were raising families. I just moved here because it felt more private.
I like to be secluded, but with Winnie now in my life, I’m happy I get to bring her home to something like this.
“Archer.” She says my name in shock, taking a few steps closer to where she inspects an entryway table filled with books I’ve never seen in my life. “You decorate?”
I fight a smile. “I hired someone to decorate. They were here all day.”
Her head whips around to look at me. Her mouth hangs open as she looks at me in shock. “You did all of this…today?”
I nod, looking around the space to see what they added. There’s now a giant vase with a floral arrangement next to the door. Candles are neatly placed along the dining table, and thereare photos on the walls that hadn’t been there this morning. The frames are filled with professional pictures taken of the city, but the thought pops into my mind how I’d like one day to fill them with personal ones.
“What made you want to decorate now? Were you afraid I’d judge you if you had a cold, empty, expensive house?”
I smile, shedding my tuxedo jacket and folding it over my arm. “There’s plenty you could judge me on if you wanted to, Winnie. I didn’t have to spruce up the space to prevent you from doing it.”
She follows me as I step into the kitchen. I throw the jacket over the back of one of the barstools. I’m hungry and could use a glass of wine.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Why did you do it, then?” she asks, completely ignoring my question.
I sigh, leaning back against the countertop. “Why did I do what?”
