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“There are so many trees!”Cole was in awe as his nose pressed against the living room window. To his left was an eighty-inch flat screen, fitted above an entire wall of exposed brick with an open gas fireplace near the bottom.
“Yeah, and they stay green and lush year-round because of all the rain.” I bent down and pointed at the foliage in my backyard. My home was out in the woods, miles away from the city and any traffic that might accidently find its way out here.
“This is gorgeous.” Bexley sighed contentedly while tipping her head back.
I watched how her bare feet silently padded across my floors, her deep purple toenails a stained perfection against her sun-kissed skin. Her legs were toned and long under the frayed jean shorts at her waist, and with her baggy black t-shirt with some band name across it, she wasn’t even in the same league in comparison when it came to the beauty of this house. I’d burn it all to the ground if it meant I could have her and the kids forever.
The squeezing in my chest warned me I was getting too attached; it told me I needed to slow down and be cautious, but hell if I hadn’t already packaged them all in my head into this perfect image of Christmas mornings spent together around the fire, opening presents in our pajamas.
The sound of Bexley’s phone softly ringing brought me out of my thoughts. I could feel my brows dip in worry as she pulled her phone up, only to silence it. She’d done that at least a dozen times since we left her house. During the trip here, she’d received several texts and calls too, all of which went ignored.
“Everything okay?” I asked, walking over and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She melted into my side, like it was the only place on earth she wanted to be.
“Yeah, just taking in the view. This place is amazing.” Her pink lips split apart, showcasing that brilliant smile. I wanted to press her about the call, but I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. I’d been dodging my own set of phone calls with my agent and producer calling every other day wanting to talk about this bullshit visit they wanted to set up with Shelly Cambria.
“How many bedrooms does this place have?” Bexley asked, walking out of my embrace to trail her finger along the walnut butcher block countertop I’d had custom made. Those fingers danced along the edge of the kitchen until hitting the massive farmhouse-style sink. The island in the middle was quartz with the stove range built in, facing the open layout of the living room. I was proud of this place, having designed it with a close friend of mine, and now seeing Bexley looking on in appreciation had me feeling prideful as hell.
“It has five bedrooms. Well, technically four—the fifth I had converted into a massive office with built-in shelving, and I removed the closet.”
“I need to see them—I need to see all of it.” She tugged on my hand as the kids caught up to us.
