Page 65 of One Foggy Christmas
Her gaze drops to her hands, and I know she’s grappling with another piece of information she doesn’t remember.
“Lindy is one of those people who’s instantly lovable. She’s also an open book, so you’ll know everything you need to know about her within five minutes of meeting her.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to meet her just yet. I can only handle getting to know one stranger at a time.”
“I beat you in checkers three times last night. I’d hardly call us strangers,” I joke. “But you don’t have to worry about Lindy. She’ll be here for you whenever you’re ready.”
Instant relief washes over her. “Okay.”
Our house comes into view, and I park the car in front. “This is us.”
Sadie slowly climbs out, studying the brownstone apartment. Four steps and a rod iron railing lead to black French doors. Bay windows on each floor stack one on top of the other. Forty-year-old trees line the streets, shading the front.
“Which level is ours?”
“All three.”
“All three?” she gapes. “Why do we need a house this big? Do we have seven children I don’t know about?”
“No, not yet.” I walk to her side, gazing up at the brick building. “It’s more space than we need right now, but you fell in love with this place the second the realtor showed it to us.”
“It is charming.”
“Come on, I’ll show you inside.” I lead the way, unlocking the front doors and pushing them open.
She stands in the entry, taking in the living room. “There’s a Christmas tree.”
I set the bags down on the floor. “Lindy put it up for us even though we lived at the hospital.”
Hesitantly, she takes a few more steps inside, like a guest.
“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this is your house. What’s mine is yours and vice versa. I just want you to feel at home and comfortable.”
“It’s really nice.” She runs her fingers down the arm of the brown leather couch. “Is this your furniture?”
“It’sourfurniture.” I smile. “You decorated the place.”
“I did?”
“Well, you and the decorator, Lawrence.”
“Ah. That makes more sense. I’ve never been good with design.”
She walks around the room, looking closely at the pictures on the shelves.
“That’s our wedding day,” I say, following her.
“In Tahiti. Autumn told me,” she explains but doesn’t have any other reaction to the best day of my life.
“And that was the first day we moved in.” I point to one of us sitting on a blow-up mattress, holding Spaghetti-Os cans.
“Where’s this?” She stops in front of a picture of her ziplining backward, spider style, with another man.
“That’s in Costa Rica. The tour guide said you had to go down the zipline tandem with him, and for some reason, he made you lay flat on your stomach and then straddle him. He was so pleased with himself when he zoomed past me with your legs wrapped around him.” I smile, lifting my shoulders. “I don’t know. We thought it was hilarious, so we put the picture in our house.”
She nods a few times, barely cracking a smile. “How long have we lived here?”
“Almost from the beginning of our marriage.” I follow her into the dining room and kitchen. I don’t want to hover, but since she’s asking questions, I feel like it’s safe to linger. “We remodeled the kitchen ourselves.”
