Undersold(22)

The car pulled over in front of a cute but simple row home at the end of a small side street. Every house here looked well maintained and beautiful, but his wasn’t any different from the others, which surprised me. I halfway expected some ultra modern construction, something new and sleek to go with his tech company vibe. Instead, it was unassuming and simple, and I absolutely loved it.

“Go on up, ma’am. He’s expecting you,” the driver said.

“Thank you,” I replied, and got out.

I walked up the stoop and rang the bell. It was the only modern part of the house: silver and metallic with a small camera. As soon as I hit the button, the door buzzed, and I let myself in.

The main hall was cramped but lovely. All hardwood floors, dark and smooth, freshly waxed, plus period-appropriate early American furniture—or at least what I guessed was early American. I had no idea, but whoever did the decorating nailed the feel. It was all wood and more wood, with old brooms, bottles, and other objects I couldn’t identify.

“I’m in the kitchen,” I heard Shane call out. “Straight ahead, and to your right.”

I walked down the hall, passed paintings of landscapes and boats, all yellowing and slightly worn. I didn’t recognize any of it, but it was beautiful. I appreciated that Shane wanted to keep his house in the spirit of the area, and cultivated a very appropriate feel. I turned right and the hallway opened up into a large, ultramodern kitchen, all clean lines and stainless steel. It was a bit of a contrast to the more antique feel of the front of the house, but it still somehow seemed natural. Standing in front of the stove was Shane in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark wash jeans, and an apron. He smiled huge as I walked in.

“You look amazing,” he said, and moved toward me.

“You look better. That apron really brings out your eyes,” I said with a small laugh.

“Oh this old thing?” He closed the distance between us, grabbed my hips, pulled me close, and kissed me. I melted into his embrace and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He tasted like himself plus something spicy, and it was pleasant as he rolled his tongue against mine.

We pulled apart after a few moments. I felt like his lips left a trace on mine.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he said.

“Just a little bit,” I said, mind swarming with hunger for something that wasn’t food.

He laughed. “I’ve been slaving over a hot stove all day.”

He moved away and for a second I almost reached out to pull him back, but stopped myself. He stirred something on the stove that smelled incredible, rich and savory, maybe a hint of garlic and spice. I sat down at the kitchen island and watched him work.

“Should be done soon. I hope you like pasta,” he said.

After fifteen minutes of chatting and cooking, dinner was ready. He took off his apron when he came over to join me. We ate at the kitchen island, and his food impressed me. The pasta was perfectly done, and it was clear he had made the sauce himself from scratch. I was starting to think maybe his comment about being stuck in the office was a little white lie, but I wasn’t going to call him on it. This had clearly taken more time than he said it had.

Things were easy and pleasant between us. We talked about work, but not too much. We ranged between movies and TV shows we’ve watched, and he told me more about his life in Philadelphia. Apparently, his family was from the city, a ‘classic South Philly clan’ was how he put it. I told him about being from the suburbs and Levittown. We finished eating and lingered over our plates, both unwilling to end such an easy and nice part of the night.

“You have a beautiful house,” I said.

“Thank you. George Washington used to live here for a little bit.”

I was stunned. “Is that true?”

“Nope, not at all. But I still tell people it is,” he said, grinning.

I smacked him lightly on the arm. “I didn’t expect this, honestly.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Something more modern. Expensive-looking.”

“You should have realized that I’m not into being flashy. This place is pretty much as original as possible. Most of the furniture is colonial as well, I think. I’m not totally sure. I hired someone to decorate.”

I laughed. “That’s what I guessed. Whoever it was did a great job.”

He leaned in close to me with a mischievous look on his face. “Want the tour?”

I smiled. “I’d love that.”

He stood up and cleared our dishes. Once they were in the sink, he pulled off his apron, and put his hand out for me. “Right this way.”

We went back out into the hall and he pointed out some of the paintings. They were all early American, and he said some of them were actually by important artists, though I didn’t recognize any names. He led me further down the hall, back to the foyer, and up a staircase. My heart began to flutter; it was pretty obvious what his game was, but I still felt nervous and excited.