“Did the chicken hold up? You had massively unrealistic expectations.”
She scoffed. “Because I mentioned it once?”
“Obsessed.”
Emma lifted her nose in the air. "It was delicious. Yours?"
Tyler had ordered the ribeye with mashed sweet potato and haricot verts. “Astounding.” The steak had been overcooked and the beans a bit mushy.
“Liar. You can admit you wished you’d copied me.”
He grinned as they approached his truck, their breath forming cumulus clouds with each exhale. Tyler unlocked the doors, and they both slid into the icy seats. Goosebumps prickled his skin as the cold leather made contact. Tyler flicked on their seat warmers and let the engine idle a few minutes before turning on the heater.
“Where are the properties you’re working on?” Emma asked, her hands tucked under her thighs for warmth.
“I’ve only been to the one—the other two are being gutted, I think. Do you want to check it out?”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “It’s close?”
“Maybe eight minutes away?”
“That’s a very specific estimate.”
“I like to be accurate.”
Emma pulled out her phone. “Starting a timer now.”
Tyler took that as a challenge. He’d driven to the property from this street before, but never this exact spot. He pushed through a yellow light, then wondered if that would make up too much time.
“At six minutes and counting, Bowen.”
One and a half minutes later, the truck tires crunched over gravel as Tyler pulled into the driveway of the old manor house.
“Admit it, Thompson. You’re impressed.”
She raised an eyebrow. If she was going to use his last name, he was going to use hers. She stopped her timer but didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. That alone told him he’d won.
The imposing brick facade cast a shadow across spotty snow drifts in the pale moonlight. He could see Emma's eyes widen with anticipation as they climbed out of the truck, her breath misting around her.
“Here.” Tyler tossed her his Maple Leafs toque from the console. She turned it around.
“I don’t think I’m allowed to wear this in this city.”
Tyler pointed to his bruised face. “I’ll protect you if you get jumped.” He pulled on a striped toque, which he’d purchased at a gas station in Winnipeg when he was there for a tourney, and followed Emma along the paving stones.
"This place is incredible," she whispered as they approached the arching grand entrance. "What’s the story?”
"From what Troy tells me, it was built in the early 1900s by an eccentric millionaire named Jasper Whittaker, who was obsessed with European architecture. Not quite as infatuated with it as you were with the chicken, but almost.”
Emma smacked him and kept walking. “I see some Gothic, some Baroque.”
“A little Victorian, too, I think. It was set to be torn down. Had some major foundation issues. Structurally, it’s sound now.”
“And the interior?”
“In progress. Some rooms are finished. There’s an original claw tub on the third floor and a ballroom at the top.”
“Shut up.”
