“I thought so.” He caught Kong by the collar before he could leap on her.
“He’s all right.” She laughed as she bent down to rub him. “Hello, fella. Hello, big boy. You’ve got plenty of room to run around here, don’t you?”
“Twelve acres.” He was getting that ache again, just under his heart, watching her play with his dog. “I’m going to leave most of it alone.”
“I’m glad.” She turned a full circle. “I’d hate to see you manicure the woods. I’d nearly forgotten how wonderful they are. How quiet.”#p#分页标题#e#
“Come on.” He took her hand, held it. “I’ll give you the tour.”
“How long have you had the land?”
“Almost a year.” They walked across a little wooden bridge, over the creek. “Watch your step. The ground’s a mess.” He looked down at her elegant Italian flats. “Here.” He hoisted her up and over the rubble. She felt the bunching of his arm muscles, he the firm length of her legs.
“You don’t have to—” He set her down, hastily, in front of a pair of atrium doors. “Still Mr. Smooth, aren’t you?”
“You bet.”
Inside there was subflooring and drywall. She saw power tools, sawhorses and piles of lumber. A huge stone fireplace was already built into the north wall. Temporary stairs led to the second level. The scent of sawdust was everywhere.
“The living room,” he explained. “I wanted plenty of light. The kitchen’s over there.”
He indicated a generous space that curved off the main room. There was a bay window over the sink that looked out into the woods. A stove and refrigerator were nestled between unfinished counters.
“We’ll have an archway to keep in tune with the windows,” he went on. “Then another will lead around to the dining room.”
She looked up at the sky through a trio of skylights. “It seems very ambitious.”
“I only intend to do it once.” Taking her hand again, he led her around the first floor. “Powder room. Your mother found me this great pedestal sink. The porcelain’s in perfect shape. And this is a kind of a den, I guess. Stereo equipment, books.” When he narrowed his eyes, he could see the finished product perfectly. And oddly, so could she. “Do you remember Josh McKenna?”
“Yes. He was your partner in crime.”
“Now he’s a partner in a construction firm. He’s doing all these built-ins himself.”
“Josh?” She ran a hand over a shelf. The workmanship was beautiful.
“He designed the kitchen cabinets, too. They’re going to be something. Let’s go up. The stairs are narrow, but they’re sturdy.”
Despite his assurances, she kept one hand pressed against the wall as they climbed. There were more skylights, more arches. The eyebrow windows, as he called them, would go over the bed in the master suite, which included an oversize bathroom with a tiled sunken tub. Though there were a mattress and a dresser in the bedroom, the bath was the only finished room. Vanessa stepped off subflooring onto ceramic.
He’d chosen cool pastels with an occasional vivid slash of navy. The huge tub was encircled by a tiled ledge that sat flush against another trio of windows. Vanessa imagined soaking there with a view of the screening woods.
“You’ve pulled out all the stops,” she commented.
“When I decided to move back, I decided to do it right.” They continued down the hall, between the studded walls. “There are two more bedrooms on this floor, and another bath. I’m going to use glass brick in that one. The deck will run all around, then drop down to the second level on the west side for sunset.” He took her up another flight of splattered steps into the gable. “I’m thinking about putting my office up here.”
It was like a fairy tale, Vanessa thought, circular in shape, with more arching windows. Everywhere you stood there was a lofty view of the woods and the mountains beyond.
“I could live right here,” she said, “and feel like Rapunzel.”
“Your hair’s the wrong color.” He lifted a handful. “I’m glad you never cut it. I used to dream about this hair.” His gaze shifted to hers. “About you. For years after you left, I used to dream about you. I could never figure it out.”
She turned away quickly and walked to one of the windows. “When do you think you’ll have it finished?”
“We’re shooting for September.” He frowned at her back. He hadn’t thought of her when he’d designed the house, when he’d chosen the wood, the tiles, the colors. Why was it that now that she was here it was as if the house had been waiting for her? As if he’d been waiting for her? “Van?”