move to Missouri where their daughter, son-in-law, and five grandchildren lived. They wanted to downsize and didn’t want the hassle of moving all their shit. They also didn’t want to wait for the market to go up. They bought this place at a good price, so even giving it to me for what they did they still made a whack. And even if they didn’t, Leon and his wife were far from hurting.”
When I remained silent, Trey prompted, “Does that explain the house?”
Being as it did, but it didn’t take the sting out of how I’d squandered the blessings my parents had given me, I only nodded.
“Good. Now, would you like a tour of the house?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted a tour. I wasn’t even sure how I’d ended up here.
Jake.
That was why I was standing in Trey’s fabulous living room.
I glanced over his shoulder and my eyes caught on the fireplace. It really was too bad he wasn’t an HOA kind of guy, because that fireplace rocked. It might not get super-cold in Georgia but it still got chilly. And I’d bet sitting on that huge, gray suede couch with a fire roaring, cuddled under a blanket with Trey, would be awesome. So awesome, I’d never want to get up. So awesome, I could probably drag my backside out of bed on whatever day the trashcans had to be pulled in and do that at the butt-crack of dawn so there wouldn’t be a letter left in the mailbox.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” I answered.
“You gonna go silent on me again when I show you the sauna?”
“You have a sauna?”
“Yep. There’s also a Jacuzzi, a wine cellar—though it’s more like a big closet with racks, something called a butler’s pantry, and a library.”
My gaze skidded back to his and my stomach clenched. I’d known Trey awhile, I’d seen a whole lot of different expressions pass over his handsome face, but I’d never seen him wary.
“I’m sorry,” I grumbled. “You have a beautiful home.”
“House,” he corrected. “This is just a house. A home is where you raise a family.”
Something flashed across his face and I wondered if he wanted a family.
“It’s beautiful nonetheless.”
Trey dipped his chin, tagged my hand, and pulled me through the huge, formal dining room. Then he took me for a tour of his mansion and I’d found I was right—it was a mansion. Nearly six-thousand square feet. Way too much for one person. I found out his definition of a “big closet” and mine were two different things. The wine cellar was the size of my childhood bedroom. The walls were painted a deep maroon, the racks were mahogany, and in the middle of the room, three round, high-top tables sat four each. Presumably for tastings or entertaining. I wasn’t a wine person, nor was I into formal entertaining, however even I could appreciate the beauty of the cellar.
The sauna was, well, a sauna. The Jacuzzi was to-die-for with a Japanese-style pergola surrounding it. One side had an intricate privacy screen, the other sides had curtains that were right then tied open. You could sit in the warm bubbling water and either have complete privacy or a view of the beautiful backyard.
Trey completed the tour in the master bedroom. If you could call a room so large it had a king-sized bed, two nightstands, an armoire, a twelve-drawer dresser, a couch, two chairs, and an accent table a bedroom. Maybe it was called the master suite. Maybe it was simply called insanely huge, over-the-top, and unnecessary. Then again, I grew up in a home. Not big, not small, but there were six of us packed in and there was no such thing as personal space. Mom and Dad didn’t allow it, they wanted us close—physically and mentally. Even after Dad left the Army and started Triple Canopy and my parents could afford to scale up, they didn’t. They kept our family home.
“You’ve gone silent again,” Trey teased.
“It’s a lot to take in. Especially this.” I lifted my hand and swept the room. “This room alone is half the size of my condo.”
Again Trey’s expression settled on wary.
Crap.
“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that,” I said. “I don’t mean to be offensive. I’m just surprised. And not because I thought you would live in a crappy bachelor pad full of empty pizza boxes and beer cans. It’s just…this isn’t you. I don’t know how to explain it, but I promise I’m not doggin’ where you