Page 166 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
Quinn, the resident romance author, informed me that the heroes in her books always make a grand gesture. Groveling was preferred but optional. In my mind, the grovel wasn’t necessary. At this point, what did I have to apologize for? I hadn’t screwed up in any major way in the past two weeks. Unless you count failing to mention that Carina and I had broken up. I didn’t. So I could skip right past the grovel and move on to the grand gesture. My house.
Not sure how a gesture could get any grander than a six-thousand-square-foot symbol of my love. My house was set back from the road by an expansive lawn with live oaks that gave me some privacy. According to my architect, it was very hip but low-key. An eclectic Mediterranean-style mansion.
It was my Taj Mahal but infinitely better because Evie was still alive and well, and my house was not a mausoleum.
I never thought I’d get so attached to a piece of real estate, but this house had become a living, breathing thing that had taken on a life of its own. A running joke in the locker room.
McCallister’s too busy picking out paint swatches to practice today.
Yo, McCallister, my wife’s on the phone. Wants to discuss window treatments for the new house.
“Wow. This is amazing.” Evie beamed at me, and her smile made me feel like I was ten feet tall.
I wasn’t that kid from Chicago anymore, living in an abandoned house with the snow coming through the roof.
“It’s gorgeous. This house belongs inArchitectural Digest. I can’t wait to see the inside.”
“I had it gutted and taken down to the studs, so it looks nothing like before.” The old house was dark with a warren of tiny rooms, so the construction crew had knocked down walls and opened everything up.
I ushered her through the arched black front door into the foyer, a big open space with light pouring in. I didn’t want a pretentious house or anything remotely bling, so this was the opposite. I took her upstairs first, saving the heart of the home for last. I had five bedrooms and six bathrooms. Too much for one person. But as Shiloh and Lila had pointed out, “You’re a big guy. You take up a lot of space.”
“You need some furniture,” Evie said as we walked down the hallway and looked into the bedrooms.
“Working on it.” I had an interior designer, but the art, furniture, and small details were the one area where I couldn’t pull the trigger.
I led her into the master bedroom, which, like the others, had two-hundred-year-old oak floors that were hand scraped.
The wall behind the king-size bed was made from reclaimed barn doors. The ceilings were high with exposed beams and tall black steel-framed windows in the sitting area that overlooked the backyard, the pool, and the lake where I had a private dock.
Evie stood in front of the glass and steel shower in the master bathroom for a few moments and gawked.
Then she turned on her heel, and we continued the tour.
I had a sunken living room with exposed beams, rustic wood walls, and a stone fireplace. A fully stocked black walnut bar. A dining room. A media room. Another living area with wood-clad walls and good acoustics for my record player and vinyl and acoustic guitar collection. A gym. A kitchen with a black chef’s stove, whitewashed wood, and black chopping block countertops.
In other words, I had it all, but I’d saved the best for last.
CHAPTERSIXTY-TWO
Ridge
When I usheredEvie out to the two-story screened-in porch, she didn’t say anything. I tried to read her expression, but I couldn’t.
Maybe this wasn’t her dream house, and maybe I’d gotten it all wrong. After all, we were only eighteen years old at the time.
Maybe she hated the house or thought I was showing off, flaunting my wealth in her face.
I didn’t know what the fuck to think. I pushed my hand through my hair and tried to find the words. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
That’swhat came out. And I’d punctuated the words with an exasperated sigh which didn’t improve the situation.
She covered her face with her hands, and she started to…cry.
Jesus. Evie was crying, and I got the distinct impression that they were not tears of joy.Notthe reaction I’d expected.
“Hey.” I pulled her into my arms and held her close. Her tears soaked my T-shirt, and I stroked her hair, trying to soothe her. “Evie?” I hooked two fingers under her chin and lifted her face to mine. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”
“I just…” She shook her head. “This house…” She pulled away from me and brushed away her tears. Then she took a few steps back and planted her hands on her hips, glaring at me. “How could you do this to me?”
