home had a welcoming feel to it. It was as if there was a woman still living there, Phoebe thought as she made her way to the front door with Heath.
He unlocked it and they both stepped inside.
‘Hi, Dad, we’re home. I hope you’re decent. I have Phoebe with me, and you don’t need to scare her in your underwear, or worse.’
Phoebe felt a smile coming on at the humour in his greeting and it lifted her spirits. She looked around and was very taken by the beautiful stained glass around the door of the softly lit entrance hall. And she felt comforted by the lighthearted side of their father-son relationship. It was not unlike the way she related to her own father. The warmth, respect and humorous rapport were very similar.
‘I’m outside on the patio.’
Heath dropped his keys onto the antique hall stand and then led the way down the long hallway, through the huge country-style kitchen, complete with pots and pans overhanging the marble cooking island, to the back veranda. From what she could see of the house in the dim lighting it was pristine, and she wondered if it was the work of Ken or if perhaps he had a cleaning service to keep it looking so picture-perfect. It didn’t look like two men were living there.
Phoebe excused herself to visit the bathroom while Heath walked through the French doors to the patio.
‘There you are,’ he said to his father, who was sitting in the light of the moon.
‘Yes, just sitting alone with my thoughts. And here’s one of them. Don’t look at me as a role model—look at me as a warning … It’s not a real life without a woman to share it. Don’t leave it too long to look for love again.’
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