A Dream of His Own. Gail Martin Gaymer
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“No stainless-steel appliances here. He’d be crazy to swindle a woman in a slab house with three small bedrooms.”
“Okay, Mom. I made a mistake. If you run into each other again, tell him I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Are you trying to be funny?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to make you smile.”
Brandon slipped his arm around her shoulders. It had been so long. Jubilant, she hugged him back. Still the problem remained, but he’d admitted he’d been wrong and that was a start. When she drew back, she looked into his eyes. “I know this won’t end our disagreements, but I hope we can remember that talking it out is better than holding it in.”
He nodded and stepped back, his gaze drifting from hers. “I’ll try to think before I speak.”
“I hope so, but thank you.” She squeezed his shoulder before returning to the chicken. “Stir-fry might not be your favorite but—”
“It’s fine, Mom. Everything’s fine.”
She tucked his words into her heart while another prayer lifted heavenward.
* * *
Quinn stared out the living-room window, anticipating the unfamiliar experience of having a woman in his home. And not any woman. Ava. She’d carved a deep trench in his mind, and periodically he fell into it. He struggled getting out. He’d analyzed the situation. First he thought about the accident that roused his sense of responsibility. Then he considered her son, and the impact the boy had on him—definitely a negative one—but it took him back to his fifteen-year-old son. When out of his earshot, Sean may have been rude, too.
Weighted by options, Quinn accepted the truth. Ava appealed to the man in him. He’d been without a woman in his life for four years, and though he’d faced his family’s deaths, he hadn’t faced the reality. He hadn’t died with them, and now he wanted to live again. The house’s renovation mirrored his need to make changes in his life, too.
A noise alerted him, and his pulse skipped when he saw Ava’s car parked in his driveway. She remained in the car a moment as if getting her bearings before facing him. He supposed he deserved that. He hadn’t been as genial as he should have been. Being more outgoing added one more way he had to change.
As she approached the door, he strode to the foyer, and when the bell rang, he hung back a moment. He didn’t want her to think he’d been clinging to the doorknob waiting for her even though that’s what he’d been doing. When he thought enough time had passed, Quinn pulled open the door. His voice failed him when she offered him the brightest smile he’d seen from her. Her hazel eyes sparkled, and her cheeks blossomed with color as he pushed back the door.
She stepped inside, and though no words had been spoken between them, he understood. Interest filled her face as she shifted her eyes from the open staircase to the cathedral ceiling and the length of the foyer toward the family room. She looked side to side, taking in the living room and dining room from one spot. “Magnificent, but you’re right. Beige paint must have been on sale.”
He sputtered a laugh with her unexpected quip, and her surprised expression pleased him.
Her gaze swept the rooms. “This is a gorgeous home, Quinn. Really lovely and so charming. When was it built?”
He nodded, almost embarrassed when he thought of her much smaller house. “Nineteen twenty-one, when they made them sturdy.”
“How long have you lived here?”
Her questions seemed unending. “Only three years.”
“And you did the decorating?”
“No.” He flinched. “It was like this when I moved in. I’d meant to—”
“Redecorate. Add a little of yourself.” Her gaze caught his with a look that probed his thoughts.
His shoulders sagged. He didn’t have a taste to add to the house. He’d ignored his last home, accepting his wife’s choices. He’d ignored many things when he moved—to get away.
Quinn dug deep to lighten the conversation. “I’m slow when it comes to change. Think snail.”
She chuckled, and the sound rang through the rooms and echoed up the staircase. Laughter. He drew it in, filling his memory with the joyful sound and relishing in a new energy. A grin clung to his mouth, and enjoying the wonderful release, he grasped for something else to add—lighthearted and free.
Instead her smile dimmed. “Thanks for the laugh. I needed that.” Her admission caught him off guard.
Her gaze lowered to the floor as she drew up her shoulders. “But enough about that. Where do you want me to begin?”
His mind had been milling with dark thoughts. But her openness rallied him forward. “How about a tour of the house?” The image of her cozy house swept through his mind.
“I’d like that.”
“I don’t think I told you that I was impressed with your home. Very attractive. I saw you in the decor, and I also recognized your talent. You have a good eye for detail. An eye I don’t have.” Seeing the pride in her face sent a warm feeling rushing through his chest. He gathered his thoughts and gestured toward the rooms on each side of the foyer.
He surveyed her admiring expression as she stepped into each room—a slight lift of an eyebrow with a faint upward curve of her lips, a generous grin and approving nod. He felt reborn.
In the family room, her focus rose to the cathedral ceiling, and she spent time in the kitchen, eyeing the layout and commenting on the expansive counter space. His use of the kitchen was comparable to the whirlpool tub in the master bedroom. The shower served him just fine.
When they reached his study and his master suite next door, Ava studied him while she tapped her finger on her lips, today the color of ripening cherries. He closed his eyes to control a wave of sensations. Regret. Longing. Hope. He opened his mouth to ask her opinion but faltered. She would offer her opinion when ready—and he’d hear plenty. The reminder made him grin.
Though he used the second floor only for storage, a few mementoes of the past, Ava wanted to view the rooms. At the top of the stairs, she took stock of the layout before perusing the four bedrooms and two baths. When she’d finished, she turned toward him and shook her head. “You could open a bed-and-breakfast with all this space.”
“After one of my breakfasts, I’d be out of business. Maybe a shelter for the homeless. They would appreciate cold cereal and coffee or a frozen entrée for dinner. That’s all I know about cooking.”
She chuckled before she turned and descended the stairs.
* * *
At the bottom of Quinn’s staircase, Ava’s head spun. The place equaled some of the loveliest homes in the prestigious areas of Oakland County. Good-looking and available, he lived in this magnificent house alone. Why had he never married? The questions kept coming. Her fingers curled into a knot as if the tight fist could keep her curiosity under wraps. “Do you want to talk now?”
He arched a well-shaped brow. “Why not?” Quinn motioned toward the family room, so she turned down the hallway and stepped into the vast room with a homey fireplace and lovely windows that looked out into what had been a garden, a beauty, she guessed. Apparently Quinn didn’t know much about landscaping, either. His plumbing issues plunged into her mind along with his admission of knowing nothing about cooking. So what did he know?
When she stepped through the foyer into the family room, he motioned toward a chair. He remained standing, and she looked at him a moment before sinking into the soft leather.
“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? A pop?” He’d strode toward the archway into the kitchen.
“I’m fine, but thanks.”