Page 15 of This Memory
She nodded. “That’s true.” Her brows furrowed, as if not wanting to say her next words. “Hate to say this, but you’re right—things might get worse for you when those hormones kick in.”
I rubbed at the back of my neck. “I wonder if I can request to work in Albany for the next nine months?”
Drawing a deep breath, I got out of my car and made my way up the sidewalk to Brystol’s two-story brick house. I’d driven by countless times and could probably drive the route with my eyes closed.
Her porch and flowerbed in front of the house were filled with fall plants, with baskets hanging down from the tree in the front yard. Two giant baskets of mums were hanging off hooks on each side of her garage. I had a feeling Harper had a hand in all the flowers.
I stood at the bottom of the steps and stared at the fall wreath she had hanging on the door.
“This is a bad idea,” I whispered to myself.
I was about to turn around and leave when the front door opened and Brystol appeared.
“For a cop, I would think you’d know how creepy it is to stand in front of a single woman’s house and stare at her door, you freak.”
I huffed. “I wasn’t staring at your door. I was trying to find a path up through this forest of mums on your front porch.”
She snarled her lip at me. “Why are you here, Gavin?”
“Are you going to at least invite me in?”
“To my house?”
“No, your garage. Yes, your house, Brystol.”
Her brows slowly drew in together. “Why do you want to come into my house?”
“Because the longer I stand outside, the more the neighbors will wonder why I’m here. Did she break the law? Are they dating? Are they arguing about something? Is he going to spend the night?”
Brystol pretended to gag and pushed the door open, silently inviting me in. I couldn’t help but smile as I passed her.
I stepped into her house and right into a small foyer with a closet straight in front of me. When I turned to my left, there was a huge open living room with a massive fireplace at the end flanked by two built-in bookcases.
A large lounge chair was tucked into the spot where the bay windows were, and instantly I envisioned Brystol sitting there reading. I wondered if she still liked to read as much as she did in high school. It bugged me I didn’t know that about her now.
“Your house is really nice,” I said, as I moved into the living room. Wide-plank wood floors ran throughout the house, or at least it appeared that way.
“Thank you.”
Turning to look at her, I asked, “You’re not going to give me the tour?”
“Are you stalling for time or something?”
I laughed. “Something like that. So, tour?”
She huffed, but I could tell she was secretly pleased to show off her house. I’d heard from Aurora and Harper that Brystol’s home had undergone a ton of remodeling, most of which she’d done herself. Whether because she drove off contractors or because she was that talented, I wasn’t sure. I suspected the latter…but if asked, I’d go with her driving people away.
“This is obviously the living room. If you walk through here, it’s the formal dining room.”
I followed her through an archway into the dining room where there was an antique table that seated six and a matching sideboard. In the corner were built-in shelves that matched the ones in the living room.
“The table and sideboard were my grandmother’s. She gave them to me when I bought the house.”
I smiled. “Reminds me of my grandmother’s.”
She smiled. “I think everyone’s grandparents owned furniture like this.”
We walked through another archway and into the kitchen. Like most of the older homes in Moose Village, it was a typical closed-in kitchen, but this one had been updated with blue cabinets, a white brick-style backsplash and granite countertops. There was a bar along one wall that faced the outside, complete with barstools.
