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I want to ask if this is a trick question or if he’s got an inside joke due to how we met, but somehow I think it’s not.
“I feel pretty good about it,” I tell him, watching him closely.
“Come on in, I was just about to have some. Mrs. Wheeler, she owns Bean There in town, brought it up for me. She brings baked goods with her wherever she goes.”
He opens the door wider to let me in, and I’m instantly struck with how homey his house is. I don’t know what I thought—bachelor pad, poorly thrown-together decor, or whatever—but this house has been professionally decorated. He closes the door, and I slowly follow him.
“I love that place, and she sounds like Avery. Avery just can’t help herself with the baking. It makes her happy, and then she’s doubly happy when she gets to give it away. Ash is too.” I grin. He loves to harass her about all the extra calories, but he gladly consumes everything she makes him.
“For as many of my donuts as she’s eaten, she hasn’t brought me anything yet.”
“Just you wait,” I tell him, thinking that if we actually become neighborly, he will certainly find himself on the list.
As we walk toward the back of the house, the first thing I notice is that he has a lot more windows than I do. Windows without curtains. While I’m certain it’s amazing during the day when the natural light is pouring in, the idea that someone could be outside staring in, no thank you.
In the kitchen, my jaw drops. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill house kitchen. It’s top-of-the-line, a chef and photographer’s dream kitchen. A flicker of Juliet saying that he comes from money suddenly has me questioning him a little more. Where did the money come from, and how much exactly?
I watch him as he moves around, grabbing two plates and some silverware.
“How was your day?” I ask. Not sure what one calls this type of day. It wasn’t really a party. Well, I guess it kind of was with the bounce houses and food trucks. “Everything go as planned? Are you pleased?”
He cuts me a slice and hands me the plate.
“Today was great. So far from what I’ve seen, it’s the best opening day we’ve had since taking over this place.”
“That’s amazing! I’m happy for you.” I smile at him as his eyes find mine. They’re a dark shade and filled with mystery. Who are you, Briggs Warren?
He nods and leans a hip against the counter. Then, awkwardly, we both start eating the cheesecake. It’s delicious and makes me wonder if I should invite Mrs. Wheeler over.
“It was odd to have all of these people up here. It’s usually so quiet, but today was not quiet.”
He sets his plate down on the counter. “I don’t know if I should be apologizing or not for this,” he says, looking at me cautiously.
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, just different.”
He hums as we both finish, and he takes the plates and puts them in the sink. It’s then I look over toward the dining room and see my plant sitting right in the middle of the table. A smile spreads from one side of my face to the other.
He instantly looks uneasy.
I point toward the plant. He follows and then rolls his eyes.
“Did you think I threw it away?”
“Well, from what I know of you, it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I would argue that you don’t know me at all,” he says as we walk back to the living room.
“Jury’s still out, but I do feel a little bit like I’ve entered the twilight zone.”
“Why?”
I glance around the room and see three framed photos on the fireplace mantel. In one, he is with an older woman, who I’m assuming is his mom. In the second, he and Cole hold up a bottle of cider and a trophy, and in the third is a family of four. I’m not close enough to get a good look, but the boys look younger.
“Well, this whole day, you’ve been . . . nice, and your home is beautiful.”
He laughs, and my heart stutters as it’s the best, most unexpected sound.
“Then let me be the first to warn you, don’t get used to it. Being nice ruins my image.”
