To say the inside of Hutch’s house was more bare bones than the outside was an understatement.
He had furniture.
And that was about it.
It was attractive, though.Sturdy.Comfortable.
As for décor…
He didn’t keep his guitar in a case, but on a stand next to an easy chair that was also easy to see was used regularly.The state of the chair and the guitar were part of the reason why, but the stack of books around the chair was the other part.
There was also a confluence of pictures in frames on the mantle in his living room.Mostly dogs he’d trained.
But there were other photos.
Photos I could ask about, but they were intermingled with those I couldn’t.
Like there was a picture of him sitting on the ground on a big wool blanket, back against a log, long legs stretched out in front of him, boots crossed, what had to be the light from a bonfire on him.Nadia’s husband was beside him, Hannibal on Hutch’s other side, with a slightly smaller gray version of Hannibal on Doc Riggs’s side (my guess: Gia).
However, there was also a picture of a little kid in a little kid’s basketball uniform.
A kid who could be none other than a very adorable young Hutch.
He was standing next to a tall, dark-haired, good-looking man in full police uniform.The man had his arm proudly wrapped around Hutch’s narrow (then) shoulders.Hutch had a medal hanging from his neck.
That I couldn’t ask about.
So I didn’t ask at all.
His house consisted of a good-sized living room.
A kitchen big enough to fit a six-seater kitchen table.
And five other rooms: office (scarily cluttered); romper room (very organized, blankets and towels folded neatly in a corner, huge crate already filled with new toys, line of sturdy puppy bowls, another line of fluffy dog beds); a guest bath (no nonsense); and the master (king bed with blue sheets and green comforter, no design (but soft), two nightstands, two lamps, a dresser and the fireplace) with a full bath attached.
He was a man who trained dogs, played guitar, had friends, homed pets, saved wildlife…
I could see he wasn’t a man who spent a ton of time worrying about home décor.
I liked my space nice and homey.
Weirdly, I found Hutch’s space nice and homey.
But the kitchen.
God.
It was a dream.
Whoever built this cabin poured their money into that, and it hadn’t been changed, maybe in over a hundred years, if my keen, experienced eye wasn’t deceiving me.
Ornately carved wood lower cabinets.Farmhouse sink.Glass-front upper cabinets.Butcher block counters.
And an old black iron, wood-fired stove that had extraordinary fretwork adorning its front and three different brass latch-handled sections for cooking different things at different temperatures.
It was elaborate, I knew it was worth a boatload of money, and if you wanted to try to replicate it with electric or gas, you’d be paying in the five figures.
Behind the stove there was a hammered tin backsplash and the whole thing was framed with a substantial, intricately carved wood piece that looked like it belonged in a church.Or a castle.
