Page 11 of Cakewalk

“Holy cow!” she exclaimed, rushing through the door to the attached kitchen. “It’s stunning! I love the blue cabinets! That’s so unique.” She ran over to them and ran her hands along the counter top, taken aback by the simple beauty of it all.

White marble lay on top of the custom painted cabinets that ran along the length of the kitchen. A large, butcher block style prep table sat in the middle of the room, underneath a hanging rack full of dangling pots and pans. Holden had always wondered how he’d never managed to hit his head on any of the suspended kitchenware, but he was thankful every time he’d moved around the butcher block that he hadn’t. A small kitchen table sat up against the far wall underneath a big picture window.

“Aunt Viv, my godmother, did that. When she and Uncle Field redid the kitchen about ten years ago, he gave her carte blanche to do whatever. His only instruction was ‘just don’t paint the cabinets blue.’ So what did she do?”

“Turned around and painted them blue?”

“Yup. All he could do was laugh. When I asked him why he wasn’t upset, he told me it was his own damn fault for giving her the idea.”

“They sound like wonderful people. Why don’t they live here anymore?”

“Aunt Viv passed away shortly after that, actually. It’s why they are still blue, because Uncle Field couldn’t bring himself to change it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let me show you upstairs,” he told her, pointing to the staircase hidden in the corner of the room. When they reached the landing that led to the second floor, he pointed to another doorway. “This is your side of the hall. That door right there is your room, which connects to that bathroom. There are two more bedrooms along the hall, then a bathroom, and my room, which is at the top end of the stairs you saw in the living room. Looks the same as this end of the hall, just a different staircase, and then there is another small bedroom on the other side of it.”

“Okay, that should be pretty easy to remember,” she smiled, turning to look at the rest of the staircase. “Where does this go?”

“After you,” he said, gesturing with his hand for her to lead the way. She gave him a cautious look, but started up the stairs anyway. Slowly making her way up the steep and narrow steps, she teetered a bit, her legs a little unsteady. Making sure to stay behind her, Holden got a great view of the glorious backside he’d been admiring from afar all week. His hands ached at the thought of holding on to her hips, feeling the way they curved under his grip. Watching her like this was doing things to him he didn’t think were possible anymore, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. Although his dick certainly seemed to have an opinion.

Three or four steps up, a floorboard creaked under her foot, catching Gigi off guard, causing her to stumble. Before he knew what he was doing, Holden lunged forward, his hands catching her in the exact spot he had just been distracted by. With one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against him for balance, he felt his cock twitch as his groin made contact with her ass.

“Steady,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “Old house, so the steps are small and steep. Here, hold on to the railing.” He guided her hand to the rail, placing his over hers for just a moment as she gripped tight.

“Thanks,” she whispered, starting the climb again.

Her soft, feminine body had felt even better against him than he’d imagined. For as brief a moment as it was, it seemed to have awakened something inside him. Something he’d thought was long gone. Now he was going to have trouble not letting his mind wander into thinking about what she felt like underneath those yoga pants.

As they entered the open space at the top of the steps, he heard Gigi gasp softly. The vaulted ceilings and exposed beams gave the room a rustic look that Holden had always found peaceful. A large picture window, as well as several skylights, provided plenty of natural light during the day and some great views over the back of the property. The desk that Holden used during all those pretend writing sessions sat directly across from the picture window.

Gigi wandered through the room, finally stopping in front of the antique curio cabinet that housed a number of books and awards. She scanned the book titles curiously, holding up a finger and pointing to each one, as if she were taking inventory.

“You have Caulfield Montgomery’s entire collection!” she squealed. This was the most excited he’d seen her. “And some of these are first editions!”

“Well, they should be. They’re his,” Holden said.

“His?”

“Yeah, that’s his collection.”

Gigi turned back to the hutch, this time looking at the awards nestled in among the books. When she turned back to him, her eyes were wide all over again, and a stunned look had taken over her face.

“How do you have his collection?” she asked, her voice sounding both impressed and unsure.

“Well, it’s his house. Where else would you expect his collection to be?” Holden responded, trying to sound nonchalant.

“This…this is Caulfield Montgomery’s house? The Caulfield Montgomery? As in the greatest southern gothic author of our time?”

“Don’t let him hear you say that—it will go right to his head…”

“There is no way this is his house. We’re in Vermont! He’s from…Baton Rouge…” she said, the realization and connection to what he told her the other day coming together.

“He is. Then he went to Dartmouth, where he met his best friend, Heathcliff. The two immediately bonded over being named after literary characters. Although, it should be noted that Caulfield was a family name and he wasn’t directly named because of the book. They met and married a pair of locals and stayed here. But don’t tell anyone you know that. He much prefers everyone thinks he wrote all his books in New Orleans, rather than a loft in Vermont.”

“Heathcliff is your father?” she asked.

“And before you ask, yes, my mother’s name is Catherine.”