Chapter 22
Rowan stared at Luke, her jaw slack. Did he just say… “You bought me a house?”
“Well…I bought me a house, but it’s your house and that’s why I bought this particular house.”
He wasn’t making a whole lot of sense and yet she still understood him. “Luke, we weren’t together two and a half years ago.”
“I know, but it came on the market and I didn’t want anyone else to have it.” The back of his neck darkened—a sure sign he was embarrassed.
“Anyway, it was a good opportunity and a good investment. It’s already increased in value,” he said in a rush.
She stared after him as he got out of the truck. He’d bought the house she’d fallen in love with when all they could do was drive around on five dollars’ worth of gas and dream about the day he’d make it big and he could afford to buy it for her.
He’d bought her house.
Even though they’d broken up years before.
“Are you getting out or are you going to stay in the truck?”
“What?” She looked at to her right, at Luke holding her suitcase in one hand and the passenger door open with the other. She hadn’t even heard him open the door. “Oh. Yes, sorry.”
The seatbelt cut across her neck. “Gah.”
Luke chuckled. “It helps if you unbuckle it before you try to get out.”
“Really? I like to contort myself and wriggle out of it.” Now she was embarrassed. She’d been so focused on Luke’s bombshell she forgot the basics of exiting a car. In her defense, no one had ever bought a house because of her. What was she supposed to do with that knowledge?
He climbed a short flight of unfinished stairs that led to a small vestibule off the kitchen.
“That’s a big utility sink,” Rowan said. It was low to the ground, wide, and deep.
“It’s a dog washing sink.” He flipped on lights as he continued through the room.
She followed him into the large kitchen. “Do you have a dog?”
“No. I’d love to have one, but I’m not home enough. It wouldn’t be fair. I thought about getting one and taking it on the road, but one of the guys in my band is deathly allergic.”
“That sucks. This kitchen is huge.” It had to be four times the size of the kitchen in her apartment, had an eat-at counter that could seat eight people comfortably judging by the space between the bar chairs, and faced a wall of windows.
“I know. I probably only use three of the cupboards. The house is honestly too big for me, but…you know.” He shrugged and turned down a short hall to what she assumed was the main entry.
“Wow. That staircase is gorgeous,” she said. The dark wood matched the floors almost perfectly and gleamed. “What year was the house built?”
“Nineteen-forty, I think.” He turned up the stairs. “I’ll have to check.”
She didn’t care if it was nineteen-forty or nineteen-eighty, the craftsmanship was phenomenal. All hardwood floors and wide moldings.
She peeked into the empty living room before following him up the stairs, running her hand up the smooth banister. The colors were understated and the lack of furniture made the rooms appear huge. Turning around on the stairs, she went back down and stood in the archway between the entryway and the living room.
There was no furniture. Not even a chair. The entryway was large enough for a full-sized couch and there wasn’t even a table to set his keys on.
“Rowan,” he called.
Rushing up the stairs, she found him waiting at the top in a large landing that at least had a couple of couches and a table. “Why isn’t there any furniture downstairs?”
He shrugged. “I don’t spend any time down there, except in the kitchen.”
“But you have a whole house with almost no furniture,” she said to his back.
