The mudroom was surprisingly spacious, with built-in cubbies for each of his kids. It was functional, but it lacked warmth. The cubbies were perfectly tidy, which told me the kids probably didn’t use them much. I made another note.Mudroom—add personality.
“Should I take off my shoes?” I asked, glancing at the pristine floor.
“No need,” he said, his eyes lingering for a moment on my thigh-high boots. His gaze sent a warm rush through me, and I quickly looked away, trying to stay focused.
We walked into the kitchen, a bright, sprawling space with marble countertops and sleek appliances. It felt like the kind of kitchen you’d see in a magazine, beautiful but untouched.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, opening the fridge.
“No, thanks,” I said, though I suddenly felt parched.
He grabbed a bottle of water, took a quick sip, and left it on the counter.
“Let me show you the rest of the house,” he said, leading me into the living room.
The space was massive, with oversized furniture that felt too big for the room. There was a huge sectional couch, an ottoman, and a coffee table, but no decorative touches–––Not a single throw pillow or blanket. It was all clean lines and neutral tones.
I jotted down a quick note.Layers—pillows, throws, textures. Paintings perhaps?
Everywhere we went, the house was filled with beautiful, but absolutely sterile, furnishings. It was as if he didn’t really live here. But then he showed me his office, a quiet space tucked away from the main living areas. He had a photo of his kids wrapped around him and his dimples were carved deep in his smile. The photo radiated pure love. Next to it was a painted canvas of a rainbow with Ivy’s name in bold and beside that, a small ceramic painted dog with the initials MP. Now this felt like home. His fatherly side touched something in me I hadn’t expected.
We moved on, and just past the hallway there was a second living room with a piano. I wondered if it got much use. He ran his hands across the keys. “I used to play,” he said, almost dismissively.
Onto the dining room with its small built-in bar, sleek and shiny but uninviting. It looked like something out of a corporate dinner party, not a place the kids would want to hang out. I tooknotes on each space, cataloging ideas to bring some warmth and life into his home.
When we stepped into the backyard, I felt the sun on my face and took a moment to breathe in the open air. The space was enormous, with a sparkling pool, a half basketball court, and plenty of room for entertaining.
“I haven’t gotten around to buying outdoor furniture,” he admitted, his tone almost apologetic.
“It’s a great space,” I said. “A few pieces out here, maybe a pergola or some string lights, would make it feel a lot more inviting.”
“You make it sound easy,” he said, smiling.
“It is,” I teased, feeling more comfortable now.
We headed back inside and upstairs, and I felt nervousness creeping in again. Being in his personal spaces, his kids’ bedrooms, his master bedroom, felt intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
The kids’ rooms were all uniquely theirs, but each one felt like it had been hastily put together. The walls were bare, and the furniture, though functional, lacked personality.
In one room, I noticed a stack of sports trophies on a shelf. “Your son’s a football player?” I asked.
“Big time,” Will said, nodding. “This is Chase’s room. He’s really into it.”
The next room belonged to his oldest daughter. A framed picture of her with a horse caught my eye.
“She rides?” I asked, gesturing to the photo.
“Every chance she gets,” he said. “She spends all her free time at the barn. I barely see her even when she’s not at school.” I smiled, scribbling a note about adding equestrian touches to her room.
Ivy’s room was next, and it made me smile immediately. Bright pink curtains framed the window, but the rest of thespace was surprisingly plain. “This room needs some sparkle, like Ivy,” I said, noticing a set of brightly colored markers scattered on her desk.
“She does really shine,” Will said, his voice softening. “She’s all energy, all the time. I’m just trying to keep up with her.”
“Her room should reflect that,” I said. “It needs some fun, some bold patterns. Maybe a gallery wall for her artwork.”
He nodded. I could feel him watching me closely as I moved around the room, jotting down ideas.
The youngest son’s room was clearly the domain of a budding athlete. Soccer cleats sat neatly by the door, and a baseball glove was perched on his nightstand.
