Page 45 of David's Chase

Sliding doors connect the rooms to the back of the house, where the backyard and pool are easily visible.

The place is roomy and breathy.

From almost anywhere on the first floor, I can see the living room, the amazing open kitchen, the back patio, and the large hallway leading to the entrance.

It’s a laid back, comfortable design. There are no things crammed in confined spaces.

Everything belongs, and I like that about the place.

And then there is the furniture.

Large, comfortable sofas and armchairs, decorative floor pillows, and lamps casting a soft glow around the rooms.High ceilings and a not–so–steep flight of stairs connecting the first floor to the second.

It’s classy without being overwhelming and modern without being opulent.

A little piece of heaven I would’ve never known about had he not brought me here.

A piano sits in the corner of the living room, and opposite to it, a working fireplace.

“Do you like it?” he asks, moving to the sliding doors.

I’m still looking around, lost for words.

Our eyes connect a second later, his hands on the glass doors.

“You can open it,” I say, my eyes moving to the strings of lights dangling from the trees behind the pool.

He slides them open, and crisp air tumbles in, carrying the smoky scent of early fall while the rusty leave a trail down a stone path.

Glancing around, I find the leaves everywhere—littering the lounge chairs, floating in the pool, and falling from the trees.

The strings of lights swing in the wind, and my pulse races, my muse awakened from her slumber.

What a magnificent place with such a story to tell.

It’s absolutely true that some places talk to you.

Some are brimming with old stories, others longing for more people.

I think this place is doing both.

“What would you like to drink?” he asks, his voice trailing off, hinting he’s on his way to the kitchen.

“Wine for now. And tea later. Maybe,” I say without thinking much.

My words prompt him to stop in the middle of the living room, and for a second, I have this snapshot of him standing next to the piano, wearing a sharp suit, a dress shirt open at the neckline, and a thin necklace I’ve never seen on him before, making everything look surreal.

Everything felt like a dare, a game, taking a chance on something, but this suddenly feels serious.

He seems so at home next to the piano with a large crystal chandelier illuminating the hallway in the background that I have to ask him.

“Have you lived here before…?”

He doesn’t say a thing, not a muscle moving on his face.

“So, wine first?” he asks, pivoting away––without giving me an answer.

“Yes. And I’d love to drink it outside,” I say in a louder voice as he vanishes inside the kitchen.

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