“It’s dishonest and we’re wasting this poor guy’s time,” he grumbles, but I can already tell he’s not going to stop me.
I bite my lip and wait, staring up at him with pleading eyes, and a moment later he lets out an indulgent sigh and gestures for me to lead the way. Without thinking I pop up on my toes and give him a quick peck of thanks on the cheek. Noah stiffens at the touch, his eyes locking on mine and his hand whips up to cover the spot as though he’s trying to hold onto the feel of my kiss. I’m too excited to get worked up about any more blurred lines right now though, so I just shoot him a smirk and follow after James, practically skipping up the steps.
We enter into a large foyer. I can feel the heat of Noah’s body directly behind me as I let out a gasp. It’s beautiful.Sobeautiful. Slate tiles cover the floor in colors of muted greens and blues. There’s classic board and batten trim running three-quarters of the way up the walls and to the right is a grand staircase leading to the second level. The formal living room is on the left and straight ahead, the kitchen.
James stands on the threshold to the living room, ushering us in. He’s taking in my awed expression with a smile and I practically swoon when I step into the room. I stumble a bit and Noah reaches out to steady me. His hand lingers on my arm, his warmth seeping deep into my bones. After a moment he slides it down to clasp my hand in his. I glance up at him but he just smiles and shrugs.
Playing along?
Again, I’m too taken with the house to offer it much thought beyond, ‘yes, yes, this feels right and good’.
My eyes dance around the room, soaking it all in. It’s everything I imagined it would be. Rich, warm wood floors, a large bay window with leaded glass overlooking the front yard, and a built-in window seat. There’s a gas fireplace on the far wall and French doors leading to the adjoining dining room. Immediately I can picture holidays here. A large,real, Christmas tree tucked into the corner and smelling of pine and happiness, the wall sconces casting a warm glow throughout the room, and hand-knit stockings hung on the mantle. It’s everything I always dreamed about as a child, and everything I one day hope to give my own.
Without thought, my hand–the one that’s still tightly clasped in Noah’s–goes to my belly. He sucks in a breath of surprise but allows me to guide our interlinked hands to caress my bump. We stand there together, both lost in thought when I feel a sudden flutter against our palms. I freeze and Noah does the same beside me.
“Was that …?” his voice is soft and reverent.
“I think so,” I breathe.
He moves to stand behind me, bringing his other hand around to rest beside mine and we stand there together, four hands bracketing my belly and holding our breath.
After a moment there’s another flutter … and then another. It gets stronger, like little pulses against our palms.
“Noah,” I gasp.
“I know.”
Tears spring to my eyes as we feel our baby kicking. It’s only the second time this has happened, and the first that Noah’s experiencing. The emotions rise up, quick and hard, overwhelming me. I’m held, safe, and comfortable in Noah’s embrace while our baby moves inside me. He’s pressed up close behind me and I can feel his body shaking, no doubt overcome with emotion too. I’m laughing and gasping for breaths as the feeling subsides. We stay there like that for long moments after the baby settles. Finally, I glance back at him over my shoulder. He’s gazing down at me with a soft expression. His eyes are red-rimmed, but he’s smiling.
Ohhh… he’s smiling. And it’s one that I’ll never forget for as long as I live, because that smile? It’s one of amazement, of wonder … of pure unrelenting happiness.
And damn, it looks good on him.
Eventually, Noah clears his throat and whispers, “Thank you.” I’m not sure if he’s thanking me for letting him feel the baby, for sharing the moment with him, or for the baby itself. Probably all of the above. He releases me, his hands sliding from my belly in a way that feels reluctant. Then he takes a step back and I feel the absence of his touch as though someone had blown a cool breeze along the length of my body.
It’s then that I notice James has disappeared, wisely recognizing the specialness of the moment and likely keen to allow us some privacy to experience it in the house that he hopes to sell us.
If only, James, if only.
We find him in the great room–an open family area combined with the kitchen. There’s another gas fireplace flanked by built-in bookcases and huge French doors leading out to a deck and sprawling yard beyond. It’s fenced and private and perfect for a pool. If this was my house and I had unlimited funds I’d have one installed, no question. One of those fun kidney-shaped pools curled into the back corner and wrapped with an interlocked stone patio. Oh! And one of those cool waterfall features! And I’d have lounge chairs with brightly colored cushions, and a basket of pool toys, and a pink flamingo floatie …
James is seated on the worn tan leather sofa scrolling through his phone. He glances up at our arrival and stands. Making eye contact with Noah he then nods, proceeding to the kitchen and pointing out all of its features. Herringbone backsplash … soapstone on the island counter … new stainless steel appliances. Suffice it to say that it’s perfect too.
After we’ve toured the finished basement he leads us upstairs showing us the three bedrooms and bath on the second floor before leaving us alone in the master suite on the third floor to ‘discuss.’
The suite is tucked in under the vaulted slope of the roof and spans the entire level. The rafters are exposed–gorgeous recycled wood beams, of course–and there are twin skylights. Another built-in window seat in the dormer makes me smile and shake my head. It just couldn’t get any better, I think. That is until I slide open the frosted pocket doors to the ensuite bathroom and joint his and hers walk-in closets. I won’t even get into how much I love the antique claw foot tub or the huge glass-enclosed shower with pebble tiles and double rain shower heads. Nope, I won’t, because it’s almost too much, the house too perfect.
I sigh with pleasure, spinning around in the large room and my footsteps actually echo off the tile. I’m spinning and spinning and I can’t stop smiling.
I was right about this house.
I was right.
There’s no way anything other than a blissfully happy family could live here, I’m sure of it. Eventually, I start to feel dizzy and I come to a stop, curving a protective palm over my belly and reaching the other hand out to steady myself against the smooth marble countertop. I’m grinning when I open my eyes to find Noah watching me from where he’s standing near the foot of the bed.
“You love it.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes, I do. Safe to say that its status as my dream house remains intact. It’s … almost too good to be true, actually.”
