Page 70 of The Woman in the Garage

“But?” I asked, backing out of the parking spot.

“But I’m really curious to see your house.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dasha

The last thing I wanted to do around a guy who I was crazy attracted to was ugly snot cry on their fancy suit. Or, you know, bleed all over him.

But, well, he was too good of a guy to just let me sit there and cry by myself.

The problem was I’d been too upset to really enjoy being held. Though, from the sound of things, Santo wanted me to stay the night. So maybe there would be time for some more snuggling.

Santo turned off into a part of Navesink Bank I hadn’t even visited before. As the cute little starter homes morphed into elegant mini-mansions, I understood why none of my business ever brought me over that way.

Santo’s house was on a street full of many different house styles—from an old, well-maintained Queen Anne on the corner to several Colonials and Georgians.

I wasn’t exactly sure what style Santo’s house was, but it was a two-story white stone structure with an overhanging front porch, black-framed windows, a black roof, and a ton of lovely land and hardscape out front.

Knowing what I knew about the absurd house prices in town, I had to imagine that this place set Santo back around a million.

“Wow,” I said as he pulled up the stone driveway. “Is this a new build?”

“New? No. But it was completely gutted and redone before I bought it. I think they did a lot to the outside too.”

“If it’s not too invasive to ask, why such a big house?”

“One day, I plan to have a wife and a bunch of kids in it. What?” he asked, making me realize I was staring at him.

“It’s refreshing to hear a guy talk about wanting those things with so much certainty.”

“Definitely one day. But tonight, I want to get you inside and get you cleaned up and cuddled on the couch with something cool to drink.”

I’d told him before that my throat wasn’t too bad, but with each passing moment, it seemed to hurt more and more to swallow. Kind of like when you have strep throat, where it gets more and more raw feeling, making you not want to eat. Or even swallow your own saliva.

Santo was out of the car and at my door before I could even get myself unbuckled. His hand went to the small of my back as he led me up the winding front path of his house, stopping us for just a second outside of a curved black wood front door so he could slip the key into the lock.

I didn’t expect much decor as we moved inside, but Santo hadn’t been lying when he said he’d been working on the house.

The foyer was dominated by a staircase, a black chandelier, and gleaming dark wood floors that stretched on toward the back of the house.

To the right of the front door was the living room that was dominated by a massive wooden table with turned legs and cushioned chairs.

No, he didn’t have anything on the table, a sideboard, cabinets, window treatments, or a carpet. But, hey, it was better than an empty room.

Besides, the table and the rounded picture window were always going to be the focal point of the room.

To the left of the front door was the living room that featured, of course, the green velvet couch we’d picked out. It faced a white marble and wood fireplace with a framed TV over it.

“You got end tables!”

“I did. They need lamps. And I need… the… window… blankets…”

“Curtains,” I said, smiling over at him. “You mean curtains.”

“Yeah, that’s them,” he said, shaking his head at himself.

“How about I take you upstairs to clean you up before I give you the rest of the tour?”

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