I see her smile and shake her head, drawing Val’s attention. “Are y’all textin’ while you’re sittin’ together?”
Ivy simply smiles at her sister.
BEAUTIFUL IVY
I’ll check with them.
14
Ivy
Alexander’shomeislikeevery dream I’ve ever had when thinking I’d like to renovate a house one day. Although, I get the feeling this kind of character could never be replicated in a home built after 1950, my jaw had dropped when he told us it was built in the early 1800s.
There are marble floors, stunning hardwoods, and the most beautiful rugs you can imagine. There is some kind of plaster embossing in various areas of the walls, bringing a charm that makes me drool. The huge stone fireplaces and beautifully detailed doorways beg to be photographed. I never realized how high class I am. Excuse me while I pass out.
The most mind-blowing thing of all is … to Alex this is normal. He grew up here. He has no idea how normal people live. I mean, I don’t know how he could. Maybe he has done something to try to relate with the gutter rats in the rest of society. Maybe when he moved to America, he only took the clothes on his back and a smile. A gorgeous smile, which most people would say he’d needed to leave at home as well if he were truly trying to see how the world works for the average person.
He could be a world-class snob, and I’d hardly be able to fault him for it, but he hasn’t come across that way in the least.
A woman meets us in the kitchen—a utilitarian, but still beautiful, space. She is perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties, with beautiful silver hair put up in a perfect messy bun. I love the look.
“Oh. Alexander, and you’ve brought guests! Hello!”
Alex introduces everyone, and a chorus of greetings meets her. It takes about thirty seconds for Mrs. Brown to completely charm us all. There’s just something about her. I don’t know if it’s her accent or her grandmotherly ways, or likely both. The kids don’t really have any grandparents in their lives. Micah’s parents live in Oregon, and, of course, our mom isn’t a grandmother, like she was never a real mother.
Mrs. Brown takes the kids to the pantry to choose a snack to have with their sandwich. I get the feeling she could steal the children away, and everyone involved—children included— would shrug and assume it wasfor the best.
Rain is softly hitting the glass roof of the indoor pool. It, like the rest of the house, doesn’t disappoint. Glass arches above us, and exotic-looking plants line the walls. The space has obviously been updated to keep up with pool technology, but it was done in a way that didn’t interrupt the historic charm.
I want to be put off by the fact that there are people who live like this, but I’m not. And watching Alex humbly answering Micah’s questions about the place does nothing to aid in that.
Alex drops a stack of pale green towels on a table and pulls off his shirt. It’s nothing that I, and the whole world, haven’t seen before, but in person? In person he’s a whole other thing. My eyes are trying to figure out where to start with all the dips and ridges, when he catches my gaze, a playful smirk lighting his face.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he says as he approaches me.
“It’s lovely in here. Do you tend to all the plants?”
He laughs. “Yes, I fly in each time they need watering.” He pauses and looks around the space. “My mum was the master gardener. She loved her garden in the warm months, but wanted more when it was cold out. I remember when they were small. They looked silly in this huge room, but now … she would have been so pleased with how they look.”
I smile softly, wondering at how he feels. Mom was lost to us ages ago, really we never had her, but I imagine losing Val and I think maybe I can understand.
“How long has she been gone?”
“Two years this coming September. Lost them both in a car crash.” Alex pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Oh my gosh. How awful.” I rub my hand along his upper arm and refuse to feel his muscle there. Now isn’t the time. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was certainly awful, but I’m alright now.” He smiles at the sound of Peter yelling and jumping in the pool. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to bring down the mood. Let’s swim.”
He turns and walks toward the pool while I pull off the t-shirt I’d been using as a coverup. His eyes are on me as I walk to the stairs, and he looks like a man entranced. I wouldn’t consider my vintage-cut, coral-and-white striped swimsuit terribly sexy, but given Alex’s face, he would disagree.
I sigh as I step into the water. What is even happening right now?
“Hey, Mr. Henry! Will you score me when I jump in?” Peter calls from across the pool.
“Sure. Am I scoring for style?”
“I guess so. Rate it from one to ten.”
