Page 54 of Fake it For Good
I cringed and shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
“This is your house?” she asked.
“This is my house,” I said.
“Wow,” she breathed. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but not this.”
“Come in and I’ll give you the tour,” I said. “If I can remember where everything is.”
“How big is this place?” she asked. “The trees and shrubs give the illusion it’s smaller than I think it actually is.”
“The front is a bit of an illusion,” I explained. “The house is situated on a hill. It’s three stories.”
I opened the front door and waited for her to drink in the massive foyer that opened to the second floor. A staircase wound up from the left. I remembered my first impression when I saw the house. It was definitely one of those moments you never forgot. The previous owner had been a little eccentric. The décor had been like a slap in the face with red and golds everywhere.
“Holy shit,” she said.
“Upstairs there are five bedrooms. Three are suites. The third floor is a media room with a bedroom and an office area. I honestly haven’t been up there in a while.”
“You have so much house you don’t even see all of it in a typical day?” she asked with surprise.
“That sounds terrible, but it’s true,” I said. “I’ll take you up there in a bit. I need to stir the sauce. The kitchen is through here.”
There was an archway to the left that opened to the great room. “I don’t hang out in there much,” I told her. “It’s nice when I have company, but it’s so big.”
“I see that.”
We walked into the kitchen. One whole wall was nothing but windows that looked into the landscaped backyard. The massive range stood against one wall and was flanked by quartz countertops. The dark wood cabinetry matched the window frames.
“You’re making sauce?” she asked.
I lifted the lid and stirred it before putting the lid back on. “I am. I’m making manicotti. Is that something you like?”
“I do,” she said. “I didn’t realize you would actually be cooking.”
“I’m a man of many talents.” I flashed her a grin before grabbing two beers from the fridge. “Would you like a beer or are you a whiskey girl?”
“I drink anything.”
I popped the bottle open and handed it to her. “My kind of girl.”
“Do you have a preference?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nope. I’ll drink just about anything if I’m desperate enough.”
“Do you cook often?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t say often, but I cook a couple of nights a week if I have the time,” I answered. “Let me throw this together and pop it in the oven. Then I’ll give you the rest of the tour. Feel free to meander around on your own. I have nothing to hide.”
“I don’t want to snoop.”
“There’s nothing to snoop,” I said with a laugh. “I am what you see. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“Good to know,” she said.
“The dining room is through that arch. A sitting room or something is to the other side, and if you follow the hall we just came from and hang a left, you’ll find the living room. The stairs that lead to the bottom floor are to the right of the foyer.”
“And now I’m lost,” she said, laughing.
