A Dream of His Own

Her questions seemed unending. “Only three years.”

“And you did the decorating?”

“No.” He flinched. “It was like this when I moved in. I’d meant to—”

“Redecorate. Add a little of yourself.” Her gaze caught his with a look that probed his thoughts.

His shoulders sagged. He didn’t have a taste to add to the house. He’d ignored his last home, accepting his wife’s choices. He’d ignored many things when he moved—to get away.

Quinn dug deep to lighten the conversation. “I’m slow when it comes to change. Think snail.”

She chuckled, and the sound rang through the rooms and echoed up the staircase. Laughter. He drew it in, filling his memory with the joyful sound and relishing in a new energy. A grin clung to his mouth, and enjoying the wonderful release, he grasped for something else to add—lighthearted and free.

Instead her smile dimmed. “Thanks for the laugh. I needed that.” Her admission caught him off guard.

Her gaze lowered to the floor as she drew up her shoulders. “But enough about that. Where do you want me to begin?”

His mind had been milling with dark thoughts. But her openness rallied him forward. “How about a tour of the house?” The image of her cozy house swept through his mind.

“I’d like that.”

“I don’t think I told you that I was impressed with your home. Very attractive. I saw you in the decor, and I also recognized your talent. You have a good eye for detail. An eye I don’t have.” Seeing the pride in her face sent a warm feeling rushing through his chest. He gathered his thoughts and gestured toward the rooms on each side of the foyer.

He surveyed her admiring expression as she stepped into each room—a slight lift of an eyebrow with a faint upward curve of her lips, a generous grin and approving nod. He felt reborn.

In the family room, her focus rose to the cathedral ceiling, and she spent time in the kitchen, eyeing the layout and commenting on the expansive counter space. His use of the kitchen was comparable to the whirlpool tub in the master bedroom. The shower served him just fine.

When they reached his study and his master suite next door, Ava studied him while she tapped her finger on her lips, today the color of ripening cherries. He closed his eyes to control a wave of sensations. Regret. Longing. Hope. He opened his mouth to ask her opinion but faltered. She would offer her opinion when ready—and he’d hear plenty. The reminder made him grin.

Though he used the second floor only for storage, a few mementoes of the past, Ava wanted to view the rooms. At the top of the stairs, she took stock of the layout before perusing the four bedrooms and two baths. When she’d finished, she turned toward him and shook her head. “You could open a bed-and-breakfast with all this space.”

“After one of my breakfasts, I’d be out of business. Maybe a shelter for the homeless. They would appreciate cold cereal and coffee or a frozen entrée for dinner. That’s all I know about cooking.”

She chuckled before she turned and descended the stairs.

* * *

At the bottom of Quinn’s staircase, Ava’s head spun. The place equaled some of the loveliest homes in the prestigious areas of Oakland County. Good-looking and available, he lived in this magnificent house alone. Why had he never married? The questions kept coming. Her fingers curled into a knot as if the tight fist could keep her curiosity under wraps. “Do you want to talk now?”

He arched a well-shaped brow. “Why not?” Quinn motioned toward the family room, so she turned down the hallway and stepped into the vast room with a homey fireplace and lovely windows that looked out into what had been a garden, a beauty, she guessed. Apparently Quinn didn’t know much about landscaping, either. His plumbing issues plunged into her mind along with his admission of knowing nothing about cooking. So what did he know?

When she stepped through the foyer into the family room, he motioned toward a chair. He remained standing, and she looked at him a moment before sinking into the soft leather.

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? A pop?” He’d strode toward the archway into the kitchen.

“I’m fine, but thanks.”

He shrugged and vanished through the doorway while she looked past the fireplace to the view out the window. The garden could be lovely if cared for. She enjoyed planting flowers and always longed for a place to do real landscaping instead of putting a few annuals along the porch edge. Her gaze drifted over the saddle-brown leather sofa and the straight lines of the furniture. No photographs or artwork hung on the walls, nothing personal to give her a clue about his taste. She lowered her eyes when Quinn’s muted footsteps hit the carpet.

He headed toward her, carrying two glasses of water and set one on the table beside her. “Just in case.”