He also had a hand to her waist, so he felt her shiver.
Therefore, he was smiling when he pulled away.
She gave him a murderous look. Or she aimed it at his ear.
His smile grew.
She moved to greet his mother and sister as his mum said, “Remy Gastineau. Impressive. Wasn’t he at the wedding?”
“The Gastineaus are family friends,” Ned said. “Now come in, let’s get you some drinks.”
“No happier words ever spoken,” Davi put in.
They trooped inside and it was a tossup if the outside was better than the interior.
High ceilings paneled in wood. Stone walls. Block wood mantelpiece over the fireplace. Inviting furniture in leather or cream. Lots of pillows. A circular coffee table made of a beautifully rendered block of wood. An attractive but sturdy poof even Dair wouldn’t hesitate to sit on. Ivory rug under the furniture but over hardwood floors with a taupe design reminiscent of Native American art. Creamy, downy throw blankets to cuddle under. Views everywhere of the understated landscaping made by man leading to the glory of God’s personal hand.
It was summer, and hot outside, but cool inside, and they had a fire going which gave a very cozy house an even cozier feel.
He could spend a week here.
No.
He could move here and feel at peace, at home. It had a great atmosphere, welcoming and comfortable, but fantastic to look at.
“Does Gastineau do interior design?” Davi asked as Ned moved to an inlay in the wall that was clearly the bar seeing as it held sparkling glasses, a glass and gold filled ice bucket, window-fronted wine and beverage fridge and more.
“The interior is all Blake,” Ned stated proudly.
Stunned, Dair’s attention shot to Blake, whose perfect peaches and cream skin now had more than a hint of pink to it as she studied the bows on her shoes.
She lifted her head in a jerky manner.
“Dad, take care of the drinks,” she said. “I’ll just run and get the hors d’oeuvres.”
“I dinnae know what that smell is, love, but I can’t wait to taste it,” Kenna told her.
Blake shot what looked like a nervous smile his mother’s way before she ducked out of the room.
“I’ll help her,” Dair said.
“I bet you will,” Davi mumbled.
He ignored his sister and answered Ned’s inquiry of, “What can I make while you do?”
“A cold ale would be good, if you’ve got it.”
Ned nodded.
Dair followed Blake.
The kitchen was as fantastic as the living room. He was a man who liked to cook, and he would be very happy doing it here.
He nearly missed a step when he saw the tall cake with swirls of thick, piped, butter-colored icing on an attractive wooden cake stand on the edge of the kitchen island. He could see the wee, tempting flecks of vanilla beans in the frosting.
“Did ye make that?” he asked and watched her jump up from bending over the oven.
She glanced at the cake then went back to the oven.
