4
“you know how to use that thing?”
The car pulled up in front of a low, mid-century modern home in the middle of Bloomfield Hills. I stepped out. I had never actually been inside a house in Bloomfield Hills, but I had heard the name of this area since childhood. The rich area of town. But as I sized up the unassuming one-story, made of dark wood and stone, I let out a sigh. Not ostentatious. Not flashy. If anything, understated. Warm. Tucked away behind towering oaks and pines.
Damn.It would have been easier if I had hated the place. If he had lived in one of those plantation-like manors behind guarded gates. Maybe then I’d be able to resist the temptation of dreaming of a future together in Michigan—a future that probably wouldn’t happen. Warming up to his house would be one more ingredient in the messy discussions we were headed toward at the end of the week.
The car backed out of the long driveway, leaving them alone. Niklas came up from behind and slipped his arms around my waist.
“What do you think?” he asked, nuzzling my neck.
“Beautiful. It looks like a home. But I thought you said it was much too big for you.”
“You’ll see what I mean.”
He took my hand, and we walked up to the door. But before he stuck in his key, he turned to face me.
“I’ve imagined this moment every time I thought about Detroit.”
His voice was low and soft. I squeezed his hand, and he looked at me with clouded blue eyes.
“Are you ready?”
I nodded, and he pushed open the door.
Whoa.
What I had registered as unassuming from the outside was anything but that from my current vantage point. The small, one-story I had seen from the driveway was an illusion. The house was actually two stories, built down a slope, and even from the doorway I could see that only a small portion had been visible from the front. The hallway opened up to a large room with wood floors, white walls and a few scattered pieces of furniture.
My gaze moved beyond the room itself to the long panels of glass that formed the opposite wall of the house. Through the windows, Niklas’s yard ended in a wide, blue lake. The water sparkled in the afternoon sun, still and inviting. Enough tall trees stood along the borders of his yard to block out any other signs of civilization. Just Niklas and me and the beautiful lake in front of us. And I hadn’t even entered the first room.
Damn. This was even more tempting than I had thought.
I now understood where Bloomfield Hills got its reputation. What had I expected? Gaudy pseudo-castles, spilling over the sides of the lots? Whatever I had expected, this wasn’t it. I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to process the idea that I’d be staying here with Niklas.
I must have stood in the entry hall for a while. My fingers ache from squeezing his hand. I released his hand and flexed my own a couple times. I glanced up at him. His mouth pulled down into a tight frown.
“What is it? If this is too much, we can figure something—”
“Niklas,” I cut in. “I love it.”
His eyes widened. “You do?”
“What’s not to love about this place?”
I slipped off my shoes and walked across the large, bare room, over to the windows.
Niklas followed, stopping behind me, our bodies almost touching.
“It’s not too much?”
I laughed. “It is. Back on the highway, I was pretty sure I’d hate it. The whole area has a reputation for showy wealth. All the kids around here go to private schools and belong to country clubs, that kind of thing. But this…” I gestured out beyond the window and looked up at Niklas. “It’s beautiful. Now I get why someone would want to live here. It feels a million miles away from everything else.”
I turned and put my arms around his neck. Finally, the corners of Niklas’s mouth turned up. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tightly.
“Good,” he said, laughing. “Thank God.”
He picked me up and spun me around slowly, laughing harder. I held onto his neck, burying my face in his chest. He put me down.
