Page 24 of The Love Hoax
Adam’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Oh, oh, sorry.”
I laugh at his reaction. “I mean, seriously. A fire, the music . . .”
Adam seems frozen to the spot. A deer in the headlights. “I didn’t mean?—”
Maybe he really is a geek in a hot bod.
I wander into the kitchen. It’s smaller than expected but magnificent. I step back out again into the living room. “You designed all this?” I gesture to the brown leather sofas and modern lighting fixtures.
“My vision, but with a designer’s touch. I’m more a computer guy than an interior designer.”
I stop to admire a set of small horse sculptures on a dark woodtable beside one of the sofas. They’re expertly carved, each equine muscle defined perfectly. “Very tastefully done. Do you ride?” I ask.
“When I have the time.”
“It looks like you have all the time in the world. Don’t you spend your days climbing mountains?”
I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. Seeing Adam’s frown, I say, “I’m sorry, I really don’t know you at all, do I?”
I sit on the sofa. Or more like melt into it. It’s as buttery soft as it looks. “Which makes my being here somewhat . . .” Questionable? Inappropriate? “Impulsive.”
Adam sits across from me. “You know more about me than most, at this point.”
A curious statement.
Once again, his telepathy kicks in. “Maybe I’m to blame for not telling people that I’m loaded but I’ve learned it’s better this way.”
I can imagine that’s true. Money turns people into strange beings. “Can I ask how you came into all this?” I gesture around. “Was it an inheritance?”
“God, no. My parents do fine but this was thanks to a combination of computer programming know-how and a whole lot of luck. I created an app that tracks traffic patterns. A European company bought it. Right time, right place, let’s just say.”
“I’m impressed,” I say because I am.
Adam shrugs.
“So that’s how you’re able to spend your days exploring Yosemite.”
Adam stands, as if he’s been hit with a second wind. “That’s not all I do. I’m a man of many faces.” He makes a silly face, making me laugh.
“Are you now?”
On the table beside me is a framed picture I hadn’t noticed before. An olive-skinned couple in their sixties, a striking red-head,and Adam. All are mid-jump on a beach. “I take it this is your family.” I point to the red-haired beauty. “Stephanie?”
“That’s right. Last summer in Crete. Steph looks harmless in the picture, but don’t be fooled.”
“Greece. Nice.”
“My mom was born in Athens and my dad is a second-gen Greek-American. I spent much of my childhood trying to convince Steph she was adopted. Red-hair is a genetic anomaly.”
Having two kids of my own, the taunting doesn’t surprise me. “Can I assume she gave back as much as she got?”
“Still does.”
Adam approaches the wet bar tucked away in the corner of the room. “At the risk of being perceived as a come-on, I’m going to have a drink. Kentucky’s best bourbon. Join me?”
I watch him fill a tumbler with golden liquid. He’s a rare combination of Clark Kent and Cary Grant. Bookish and debonair.
“No thanks. But I am a bit hungry.”
