You walked into an open foyer that led to a sunken living room on the left that was dominated by a u-shaped, square-backed sectional and an oversized wood dining table. To the back wall was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase that Cammie was eye-banging before turning to me with small eyes.
“That is a crime.”
“What is?” I asked, confused.
“You have a massive, Belle-worthy bookcase and there are no books on it.”
“There are books on it.”
“There are three books on it. And they look like those, like, coffee table books.”
“I’ll confess, I’ve never been much of a reader,” I admitted. “You are?”
“I was,” she said, nodding, voice a little sad. “Everything costs money, right? Like every possible hobby you could pick up. But the library was always free. So I would take my brothers there all the time. We would spend whole days there in the summer. They would do the crafts or play on the computers. And I would curl up with these massive, cheesy, paranormal young adult books and get lost for hours and hours. I loved it. Even when I was too old for those books, I still gobbled them up. But then…”
But then Colin happened.
And everything that she liked, that made her who she was, got taken away from her.
“Guess we need to take a trip to the bookstore then, huh? So you can fill up my shelves,” I clarified.
“You don’t want to bring me to a bookstore. You’d never get me back out.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I assured her, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her along with me as I showed her the study, the dining room, the family room, and finally, the kitchen.
“My mom and sister hate it,” I told her.
“What? Why?” she asked.
“They have very strong feelings about the kitchen being the heart of the house, and they think this is too streamlined to have any heart.”
It was a little cold, even I could see that.
It was a bit monochromatic, all the cabinets, hardware, and walls in a matte black with a slate countertop.
“I think it just needs a little personal touch and it would absolutely look like it has heart,” she assured me, even patting my stomach as she said it, like she was comforting me with that.
“Any changes you want to make to it, go ahead,” I told her. “Ma would love it if she saw something different when she walks in here.”
“Okay. What else?” she asked, letting me lead her upstairs.
“All these rooms are empty,” she said, looking at me with drawn-together brows.
That was why I’d told her that Nicky could move in for a while if he needed to. I had the space. That was why I’d bought the house. For the space.
“For now, yeah. I figure there will be kids in them eventually.”
“So, you do want kids,” she said, a note of hope in her voice.
“Came from a big family. I would like to have one of my own. Do you want kids?”
“Yes.” There wasn’t even a pause. “I want a chance to do it. But, you know, as an adult this time. And with resources. Though any kid of mine will still be dragged to the library all the time. How many is a ‘big’ to you?”
“I don’t know. Three or more,” I said, shrugging.
“Do all the people in your family have, well, big families?”
“Pretty much. Luca and Matteo are the only smaller family. Their Ma was killed when they were small. I imagine if she lived, there would have been more kids.”