lifts his leg over a sleek, black motorcycle. I left the outdoor lights on so it wouldn’t be too dark for him, and it’s a good thing I did. I’m not sure the single headlight would have helped illuminate all the curves of my driveway.
I take a moment to examine Calix while he lifts a helmet off his head and shakes out his hair. His dark jeans are fitted just right and cuffed at the bottom, where I can see a pair of heavy boots. The black leather jacket he’s wearing hides his shirt, but it makes a nice picture nonetheless.
Calix pulls a small set of keys from the bike and shoves them into his coat pocket, then turns to stare up at the house. His eyes lift to the upper floors.
“Hey,” I call, giving him a short wave from the front door.
His eyes land on me and he gives me a slight smile in return. “Hey, you weren’t kidding about being out of the way. Do you even have any neighbors?” His steps eat up the distance between his bike and the front porch.
I push open the screen, welcoming him inside. “Not for a few miles. You rethinking that whole serial killer thing?” I joke, stepping out of the way. “Come in.”
Calix chuckles and lets out a low whistle once he gets a good look around my foyer. I glance around, too, imagining seeing it again for the first time. My old Victorian home was built in the late 1800’s by a man for his new bride. Everything about it says Old-World excess, and I love every inch. From my unvisited conservatory to my echoing ballroom, every room has been restored to its former glory. The woodwork alone took months to rejuvenate back to the gleaming state it’s in now, and that’s only thanks to the small crew of workers that come by twice a week to clean the house.
Two things I hate: cooking and cleaning. I can’t eat, so why should I cook? And cleaning just sucks. I have enough money to pay someone else to do it for me.
“You live here alone?” Calix is still holding on to his helmet, looking around.
“Pretty much. Let me take that.” I reach forward, and he hands me the helmet. “Jacket?” I set the helmet on an ornate hall tree that has a large mirror and hat hooks, with a table and umbrella stand built right in. Both front corners are adorned with a large, wooden, lion head with its maw open wide, exposing fiercely sharp teeth.
Calix runs his hand over a wooden lion’s mane, admiring it. Shaking his head, he unzips his jackets and loops it over one of the hooks next to the mirror. “This is amazing—the detail. I mean, I can’t believe this is carved out of wood.”
“Thanks. This is Leo and that’s Savannah.” I point to the one closest to Calix.
“But these are both males.” He tilts his head.
“I know, but I didn’t want Leo to be lonely, so I just pretend.” I lean in a little closer, acting like the lions can hear me.
Calix shakes his head a little. “That’s kind of adorable,” he comments, like I’ve shocked him a bit.
It makes me uncomfortable, so I change the subject. “Do you want a drink?” I start walking toward the living room, which is really just one of the smaller parlors. I have a small bar set up in there, even though I don’t really drink.
“Nah, I’m good.” Calix follows me. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s still looking around. “This place is huge. You ever get lost?”
“Not anymore.” I throw myself into my overstuffed sofa.
Calix spins around once, taking everything in before his eyes land on me. Finally! I was thinking I should have gone with the candlelight, then maybe the house wouldn’t be such a distraction.
“Your home is almost as beautiful as you are.” Calix settles himself next to me on the sofa, draping his arm along the back and scooting close.
“Thank you.” I preen under his compliment. I know I’m pretty, but it’s always good to hear, especially when a man is looking at you the way Calix is looking at me.
I’m not sure what to do here. I’m used to frenzied hookups behind the club or in crappy apartments. Should I ask him if he wants to watch TV? Or just drag him up to my bedroom? Should I use my bedroom or one of the guestrooms?
The light offers me the first