“Okay. Sure. Thank you.”
He stepped back so she could walk over the threshold, past him, then he locked the door behind them. He placed the heavy basket on the glossy wooden floor and started to fiddle with some papers he had lying on a nearby console table—doing everything except look at her.
He may have been looking at that stuff before I even got here. I need to stop jumping to conclusions.
As she stood there, wrapped tightly in her discomfiture, she couldn’t help but notice the strong and seductive scent of burning firewood and hear the faint sounds of, Sundiver Ca’s, ‘Soundtrack for Your Backseat.’ A slowed down version that made her feel like she was flying. She didn’t expect a man like him to listen to a song like this—jazzy, futuristic, rhythmic, sensual, and yet nostalgic all at once.
Taking her by surprise, he helped her slip out of her coat.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He hung it in a closet that smelled of cedar. “Iron basket… that’s interesting. Usually they’re wicker, cloth, or plastic. You like ironwork?”
“Yeah. I used to get them all the time from a furniture store in New York. Now, I order them online. I like making baskets for people’s birthdays, things like that. It’s a hobby. I make a lot during the holidays and sell them, too.” He offered a nod. “That fireplace is huge.” She pointed and laughed lightly, not amused but impressed. “I’ve never seen one that big before. It takes up practically the whole wall. It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, it makes a statement, I suppose.” He closed the closet door and walked past her. His big, bare feet slapped against the floor, the sound echoing.
“I like it. I imagine most houses here don’t have one that size though. Well, most houses, period, right? It’s too unique to be in everyone’s house.” I think I’m talking too much. I know I’m talking too fast for a fact.
He shrugged as he picked up an iron poker and stoked the flames. The vibrant, jumping light from the sparks outlined his handsome, rugged face. His penetrating eyes especially.
“I’m not certain what all other houses have, Kim. Only this one. I designed this place myself. Helped build it, too. Have a seat.”
Why would he build such a big house to only live alone? Well, Martha said he lives alone. Maybe she’s wrong? She wanted to blurt her question, but decided it wasn’t the best time. After all, that was rather personal.
She sat on the edge of the slate gray couch, then looked around the room again, this time noting the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, and the simple yet striking oversized furniture. There was an amazing concrete divider that had an indoor waterfall flowing down it in rivulets, with lighting beneath the stream. A soft, white glow illuminated the floor in one spot, but it took her a while to find the source: a thin spotlight, about four feet in length. Parsimonious streams of morning sunlight coursed through the glass panes, flecking light which cracked through massive clouds into the house.
“Took you a while to get here…”
“Yeah, it did.” She tucked her hair behind one ear, and ran her hand along her knee as she crossed her ankles.
“I imagine you don’t live that far from Gus’s.”
“I don’t… about twenty minutes away.”
“This isn’t a drive people usually take on a whim.” He placed the poker against the fireplace wall and made his way towards her. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Juice? Coffee?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks for asking though.”
He took a seat right next to her. They regarded one another, and then, he smiled. The man made her feel so small. He mirrored her stance, a hand on his knee, and his back somewhat curved as he leaned slightly forward. It wasn’t what he said, or his vibe, but his posture, height, and breadth that took her aback. Everything about him screamed confidence. Resilience. He held his bearded chin high. He seemed in amazing shape, too. His chest was wide, but his waist was smaller than she’d imagined. No protruding belly.
I wonder if he has well-defined abs? What does it matter? He and I aren’t getting together. I get no clue that this man is into me. Hell, he might be racist, or just not want to be involved with anyone in that way. Maybe he has a girlfriend… I imagine despite his reputation, he could get a lot of women around here. I had no business bringing my ass up here. I got an idea, thought I could explore it, and now here I sit. Looking silly. I’ve not been intimate with a man in far too long…
And then, she caught a sparkle in his eye. Her face flushed with heat and she wondered if he was reading her mind. He wasn’t arrogant, but he had knowledge and power. He knew he was the shit. Everything about him was oversized. His body. His voice. His persona. He didn’t have to say much. Somehow, some way, his aura said it all.