back to her hotel right after dinner. “I’ll drive in my car.” Then she could take off any time she wanted.
“Sure. You can follow me.”
* * *
The road to his house was long and winding, an old farm road that led past his grandparents’ new house and through fields dotted with grazing cattle. Gnarled apple trees lined the drive and framed the austere form of John’s white farmhouse. A new cedar-shake roof gleamed gold in the lowering sun and stickers still ornamented the shiny new windows. A Dumpster filled with construction debris and a cement mixer were among the signs that a major renovation was still in progress.
“We stripped it right back to the old post-and-beam framing, and added stud walls and insulation. There’s almost nothing left of the original house, but it’s starting to look like it used to in its heyday. All the major work is done. Now they’re reinstalling the original woodwork. I should be back living here in a month or so.”
“It looks lovely.” She was surprised that a notorious bachelor like John would even want a big old house when he could be catered to by staff at his own luxury hotel.
“It’s coming together really well. I can’t wait to move in. I’m going to get a dog.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know yet. Something big. And cute. I’ll adopt it from a shelter.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ve always wanted a dog.”
“Why don’t you get one?”
“I need to move out of my parents’ house first. My mom doesn’t like them.”
He nodded. He must think it pathetic that she still lived at home with her parents at age twenty-seven. She needed to put moving out at the top of her goals for the coming year.
They walked up solid stone steps to the front door, which was still stripped bare of paint. John opened it and ushered her in. She glanced around his inner sanctum, taking in all the authentic details he’d had lovingly preserved.
“This house was built in 1837 by one of my ancestors. He and his sons handcrafted a lot of the woodwork themselves.”
She stroked a turned cherry bannister. “This must have been quite a labor of love before power tools became common.”
“All the more reason to restore it to its original beauty.” He led her into a bright kitchen with ivory cabinets and big center island. “Do you like shrimp?”
“Love it.”
“Good, because I’ve had it marinating since this morning.”
“You knew you were going to ask me over?”
“Of course.”
His arrogance should have been annoying. “What if I said I didn’t like shrimp? Or I was allergic.”
He shot her a cheeky smile. “I’ve got some chicken prepared as well.”
“You’re ready for anything, aren’t you?”
“I try to be.”
He grilled the shrimp and some corn on the cob outdoors, and they ate it with an elaborate salad they made together of feta cheese and pear tossed with spring greens. The million-dollar view from his bluestone patio looked over pastures and rolling wooded hills. Constance couldn’t remember a time she’d been anywhere so beautiful. Her own drab environs in an unprepossessing part of Cleveland were depressing by comparison. Yet soon she’d be back there, looking off the back porch over the weedy garden, remembering this delicious dinner and her dangerously charming host.
Dark clouds were gathering along the horizon as the sun disappeared behind the trees. Raindrops spotted the patio as they brought the plates back inside, and by the time they loaded them in the dishwasher, rain was pounding on the darkened windows.
While John brewed the fresh-ground coffee, thunderclaps boomed overhead. “You’d better wait until this stops.” Anticipation shimmered in his gaze.
She reached into her bag. “Let me check the satellite images on my phone to see how big the storm looks.”
“I already did. It’s going to continue all night.”
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