Our Now and Forever(9)

Since when did having money become a bad thing? “This Jeep is thirty years old, and it’s in mint condition. I drive it because I like it.” This Jeep carried some of the few positive memories Caleb had of family bonding, albeit bonding with an uncle instead of his father. Speaking of . . . “And my father is rich, I’m not.”

Her brows shot up. “You have a trust fund.”

“So I’m not poor,” he conceded. “And I didn’t hear you complaining about me having too much money when you were buying a new wardrobe back in Baton Rouge.”

Not that he cared about Snow buying new clothes. As far as he was concerned, she could buy anything she wanted. But he’d spent enough years taking shit for his upbringing, which he’d had no control over, to let her throw it in his face now. And it wasn’t as if he’d intentionally kept his bank account a secret until they were married. The subject never came up.

Snow’s jaw twitched as she stared out the windshield. “Follow Main down to Butler, then make a right.”

Caleb put the Jeep in gear and did as ordered. He didn’t like arguing about money, and fought the urge to apologize for his words. But if she’d left him because of his money, how was he supposed to fix that? Give all his money away and become penniless? Then what kind of a life would they have?

“Turn left up here on Fair,” Snow said after he’d made the turn onto Butler. “The house is the third one down on the right. Pull into the drive and go all the way back.”

As he followed her directions, Caleb’s jaw dropped. The white Victorian was huge. The sweeping front porch with its ornate rail ran the length of the structure, and his headlights illuminated a row of rockers to the right of the front door.

This place was straight out of the antebellum South and screamed old money. What kind of a game was his wife playing?

“You live here?” he asked, the questions building in his mind by the second.

“Pull to the left in front of the garage,” she said, ignoring his inquiry.

The garage, a three-car monstrosity, looked as elaborately decked out as the house. He’d bet his inheritance that the building had been a carriage house long before anyone had heard of Henry Ford.

Following Snow’s lead, who’d bolted from the Jeep the moment he’d cut the engine, Caleb stepped onto the gravel drive, then threw his head back to see the entire house. It was at least three stories, maybe four including an attic, which this place probably had. Didn’t they keep the kids up there in the old days?

It wasn’t until Snow said, “In here,” that he glanced down to see her passing through a garden gate toward a one-level extension on the back of the building.

He caught up and followed her up the stairs, expecting to step into a large kitchen. Instead, he entered what looked like a small room that progressed into a kitchenette area straight out of a decorating magazine. An old-fashioned stove sat on the left wall. Along the back was a counter with a centered sink and two windows above it. The only cupboards were those beneath, and all Caleb could think was where would you put stuff?

The kitchen back home was larger than these two rooms combined. Everything in sight was white, except for the occasional touch of color. A red apple orchard sign on a shelf over the kitchen windows. Blue canisters along the left side of the counter. A green throw over the short white couch, and a burst of flowers in the painting to his right.

“What is this place?” he asked, confusion clouding his brain. He couldn’t make a connection between the large house he’d parked behind and this miniature space.

“It’s where I live,” Snow said, dropping her coat and bag over a white wing-back chair. “Miss Hattie lives in the house, and she rents this apartment to me.”

“Miss Hattie?”

“The Silvesters have lived on this property since the 1850s,” Snow said. “Miss Hattie is the last of the line.”

“Right.” Caleb looked for a place to drop his bag and settled for a spot not far from the door. “It’s nice.” Tiny was the word that came to mind, but he didn’t want to give her the impression that her apartment wasn’t good enough for him. Just because it was smaller than the bedroom he grew up in didn’t mean he couldn’t adjust.

“I like it,” she said, conveying the message that she had no intention of leaving it anytime soon.

They stood in the middle of the room in awkward silence until Snow said, “I need to get out of this costume.”

Without thinking, he asked, “Need some help?”

Snow spun. “What part of ‘no sex’ do you not understand?”