Page 45 of Perfect Playbook

“I told you you’d have your own room.”

His eyes are wide. “Maybe I’ll have two!”

We stand at the front door, and I reach in my bag to find the papers Tom gave me that included key codes for the alarm and the door itself, which doesn’t use a key either. Traditional as the structure is, Logan has built in the latest tech. But before I scan the document for the codes, the door swings open, and it’s Tom, shining just as much as when I left him, despite having moved the forty boxes into the house himself.

“Welcooooome!” he sings.

Nino’s response is equally as excitable. “Thank yoooou!” he sings back.

Tom crouches. “You must be the formidable Antonio. I’m Tom. Logan told me about your amazing memory, but he didn’t say you were an opera singer.”

“You’re funny.” Nino giggles.

“Come in…” Tom ushers us inside.

I have to hide my awe. The interior somehow morphs from traditional to contemporary without losing the charm of the earthy exterior. Windows line the entirety of the back of the home, stunning views of the mountains painted in every direction. The wood-beamed ceiling is a warm andcozy honey color, somehow making the cavernous space and modern decor feel snug.

We follow Tom through the large open-plan living room, through a dining room with an enormous oak table, and into a kitchen the size of my entire home. My heart flutters, and I swear I’m about to swoon and pass out like a Victorian lady. There is counter space for miles. A total canvas. There isn’t a single set of tractor keys or leather work gloves or loose nuts and bolts cluttering the white marble runways.

It’s clean and yearning for flour and sugar and whisks to get it nice and dirty.

Tom stops our tour briefly. “There is still one small problem with the kitchen.” He takes two strides to a nearby cupboard and opens it. It’s as empty as the counters. “I did manage to buy enough plates and cups for everyone, but there isn’t anything to cook with. Logan instructed me to focus on Antonio’s room first.”

Tom moves deeper into the house. We follow him and make it to the end of a hallway leading to bedrooms.

Tom opens one door. “Here’s your room, Antonio. I hope you like it. It’s not finished yet, but we’ll need your help because Logan thought you’d like to choose some of your own things.”

Tom opens the door to a little boy wonderland. At least one formyboy. The room has neutral, earthy-toned bedding. In one corner, there is a teepee with fairy lights strewn around it and pillows inside for chilling. I wander over to the snug den and catch a glimpse of two books—Gulliver’s TravelsandAround the World in Eighty Days.Travel. Geography.

Thoughtful.My mention of Nino liking geography was subtle in our conversation about our cat and world capitals,but Logan remembered, and in doing so, touched on one of my son’s passions with this space. What really catches my son’s eye is the wall. One entire wall has a huge world map on it, and he launches himself toward it.

“A map!”

Nino jumps onto the bed, flattening himself against the giant poster to read all the fine print and explore the tiny lines and dots and borders.

Tom puts his hands together in a prayer position in front of his mouth. “It’s the best Logan and I could do with so little time. Logan mentioned Antonio is good at geography, so this decor seemed a good place to start?”

I point to Nino. “I think you have your evidence of a job well done.”

Tom heads to the foot of the bed and leans his tall frame against Africa. “Now where is Cayenne?”

My heart flutters knowing Logan imparted all of this information to Tom.

Nino asks. “My cat or the city?”

“Both.”

“The city is here.” He taps his hand on the exact location. “In South America is French Guiana, and there’s a space center there, too.”

Tom appears genuinely interested. Maybe he is. He seems like the kind of guy who would be, even if just for his general sunny nature.

“Wow. That’s a cool fact. I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t have told you where on the map it was let alone any facts. Though I might have guessed they speak French there.”

“The clue is in the name,” Nino says, matter-of-factly.

“Any other interesting facts? It might come up in a Trivial Pursuit game or something.” Tom makes an invisiblenotebook out of his hand and holds an imaginary pencil, ready to learn.

That Logan has chosen this man as his PA is telling. Maybe somewhere under that beautifully starched Gucci shirt there’s still the down-to-earth man I fell for. It’s not that I need him to be that man for this arrangement to work. Still, sometimes I miss that twenty-one-year-old Hunter boy from a cattle ranch, the one who dreamed on a dinky pond at the far end of town.

---