“You know you shouldn’t have kissed me earlier. It wasn’t exactly romantic,” Ronnie shot back.
“I thought it was very romantic.”
“We were in a garage, you had grease on your hands, and your buddy was gawking.”
“A perfect setting,” he said.
As he slowed the car, he flipped down his visor. Then, after making a turn, he came to a stop as he pressed the remote. Two wrought-iron gates slowly slid open, and the truck rolled forward again. Excited at the prospect of having dinner with Ronnie’s family later that evening, Will didn’t seem to notice that Ronnie had gone quiet.
19
Ronnie
Okay, she thought, this was ridiculous. Not just the grounds with the sculptured rose gardens and hedges and marble statues, or the massive Georgian mansion supported by elegant columns, or even the overpriced exotic cars that were being waxed by hand in an area reserved for such things—but all of it.
It wasn’t just ridiculous. It was beyond ridiculous.
Yeah, she knew there were rich people in New York with twenty-three-room apartments on Park Avenue and houses in the Hamptons, but it wasn’t as if she’d ever spent time with those people or been invited to those homes. The closest she’d ever come to seeing a place like this was in magazines, and even then, most of those had been flyover shots taken by paparazzi.
And here she was, wearing a T-shirt and torn jeans. Nice. At the very least, he could have warned her.
She continued to stare at the house as the truck zipped up the drive, turning in to the roundabout in front of the house. He came to a stop directly in front of the entrance. She turned to him and was about to ask whether he actually lived here, then realized it was a stupid question. Obviously he lived here. By then, he was already getting out of the truck.
Following suit, she opened her door and stepped outside. The two men washing the cars glanced at her before quickly going back to work.
“Like I said, I’m just going to rinse off. It won’t take long.”
“Fine,” she said. Really, there wasn’t anything else she could think to say. It was the largest house she’d ever seen in her life.
She followed him up the steps that led to the porch and paused briefly at the door, just long enough to see a small brass plaque posted near the door that read, “The Blakelees.”
As in Blakelee Brakes. As in the national automotive chain. As in Will’s dad didn’t simply own an individual franchise but had probably started the entire business.
She was still trying to process that simple fact as Will pushed open the door and led her into a massive foyer centerpieced by a grand staircase. A dark-paneled library beckoned on her right, while some kind of music room opened to the left. Directly ahead lay a huge, sun-filled open room, and beyond that, she saw the sparkling waters of the Intracoastal Waterway.
“You didn’t tell me your last name was Blakelee,” Ronnie mumbled.
“You didn’t ask.” He gave an indifferent shrug. “Come on in.”
He led her past the staircase toward the great room. At the back of the house, she saw a massive covered veranda; near the water, she caught sight of what could only be described as a midsize yacht parked at the dock.
Okay, she admitted it. She felt out of place here, and the fact that everyone probably felt out of place the first time they came here was no consolation. She might as well have landed on Mars.
“Can I get you something to drink while I get ready?”
“Um, no, I’m okay. Thanks,” she said, trying not to gawk at her surroundings.
“You want me to show you around first?”
“I’m fine.”
Somewhere ahead and off to the side, she heard a voice calling out.
“Will? Did I hear you come in?”
Ronnie turned to see an attractive woman in her early fifties, wearing an expensive linen pantsuit and holding a wedding magazine, step into view.
“Hey, Mom,” he said. He tossed his truck keys into a bowl perched on the entry table, right next to the vase of fresh-cut lilies. “I brought someone over. This is Ronnie. And this is my mom, Susan.”
“Oh. Hello, Ronnie,” Susan said coolly.
Though Susan tried to hide it, Ronnie could tell she wasn’t pleased about having been surprised by Will’s unexpected guest. Her displeasure, Ronnie couldn’t help but think, had less to do with the unexpected part than the guest part. Namely, her.
But if Ronnie noticed the tension, Will obviously didn’t. Maybe, Ronnie thought, it was a woman thing to be able to sense things like that, because Will went on chatting with his mom with casual ease.
“Is Dad around?” he asked.
“I believe he’s in his office.”