3 #2
I look at the house one last time before I heft my purse, secure the pie, and walk up the path to the steps that front of the porch.
It’s a great porch, old-timey, the kind that wraps all the way around the house.
I love that. I love the house. It’s got character, unlike so many houses in this part of town.
I can’t imagine when it was built but I don’t need to dwell on that right now.
What I need to think about is what I’m going to say to Ian when he lets me in and shows me around.
I need to think of something quick, because there he is.
“Teri, you made it, come inside,” he says with a warm smile as he holds the screen door open for me.
I smile back at him and slip past him into the foyer and look around and holy shit.
The place is gorgeous. Weird as fuck, no question about that, but full of character and life, so charming and eclectic and strange all at once.
I turn to Ian with my mouth hanging open.
“You just moved in and this…” I don’t know how to frame the question without coming off like a pompous ass.
“I did but everything you see here came with the house,” he explains quickly, relieving me of the humiliation I so richly deserve. I smile gratefully but he just stares back at me, a slight tilt to his head as if he’s trying to figure out what exactly I was getting at. Or maybe he’s just that nice.
“It’s wonderful,” I tell him like a raving fangirl. “I mean, it’s so eclectic.”
“Thank you,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.
Suddenly, I can appreciate what Lorna sees in Ian.
He’s polite and grown up in the best possible way, cute as fuck, and he just bought this place.
What’s not to like? “I’ve admired this house since I worked at the college.
I got lucky when, well, an old colleague who owned it passed away a year ago.
” He looks vaguely embarrassed by his good fortune, a far cry from most rich assholes who act like the universe owed them everything they had coming but also they earned it without a lick of help or luck or their membership in the lucky sperm club.
“This is for you.” I hand him the pie and he smiles warmly.
“Thanks. Let me put this down. I’ll be right back.”
I look around wondering if I should have followed him but he returns quickly and explains. Sort of.
“I thought I’d leave the kitchen for last,” he says as if that makes sense. I smile like an idiot and nod enthusiastically.
“Want to show me around?” I suggest and he lurches forward.
“Yes, of course.” He motions for me to follow him. We’re off to a great start, I think as I fall in behind him.
We do a quick tour of the main floor which is just a continuation of what the foyer and living room hinted at – an incredible place carefully assembled and curated by someone with cultivated if eccentric taste.
The furnishings and art all make sense together and Ian had the foresight not to screw things up by changing a thing, from what I can tell.
“So, the bedrooms are upstairs and we’ll get there eventually, as part of the tour and so you can pick your room,” Ian explains as we return to the staircase that dominates the main floor. “But first, I want to show you the real reason I bought the place.”
My heart sinks as he reaches for a door knob and I have visions of a mancave in the basement or some sort of masculine nightmare in the garage, featuring a sports car or monster truck or who-all-knows what else men do to indulge their unfulfilled boyhood dreams and desires.
When he pulls the door open to reveal a descending staircase, I grit my teeth and prepare for the worst.
We tromp down the stairs and around a corner to reveal the last thing I would have expected, a large room full of shelves stuffed with books in varying states of dust and disarray. I turn to Ian, my eyes wide to reflect my astonishment when he chuckles.
“You’re a librarian?” I ask, not knowing the word for someone who collects rare books or first editions or both.
Ian laughs. “No, not even close. I don’t know the first thing about books other than I love to read them. I used to, anyway.”
“You’re going to read all these books?” I almost laugh. “There are so many.”
“I know, but I’m going to start and see where it leads me.
” He gives me a look and a shrug that I don’t know how to take.
But I turn to look at the volumes that are close at hand, not knowing much about books myself.
I was never much of a reader and it showed in my grades.
I can’t imagine reading a book I wasn’t required to read.
I doubt I ever have. It’s just not my thing.
“So, do I have to clean down here, too?” I ask tentatively.
“No, I don’t think so, Teri,” he assures me. “It’s not like this is going to see a lot of foot traffic and I might have to be careful about some of the books, so we’ll just say that you stay and look after the upstairs areas, okay?”
“Sounds good to me,” I admit, wondering why he brought me down here. “Can we look at the places I do need to worry about?”
“Let’s,” he says with another warm smile and I’m impressed that he doesn't take anything I say the wrong way. Maybe I’ve been too hard on myself about that sort of thing. I always feel like I’m putting my foot in my mouth without realizing it.
I follow Ian up the stairs, both sets until we reach the second-floor landing and I look through what is clearly the door to the master bedroom.
I’m tempted to ask if he shares his room and his bed with Lorna full time but I back off, content not to risk getting off on the wrong foot less than an hour into my tenure. But Ian seems to read my mind.
“So, this is my room,” he says without emphasis as he leads me into the room.
I don’t see any signs of Lorna’s things but that proves nothing.
I imagine that once I move in, I find out soon enough what their sleeping arrangements are but it won’t matter to me, anyway.
I’m going to be a good girl and get paid a ridiculous amount of money for what looks like a pretty easy job.
I mean, how bad can it be cleaning up after two relatively neat adults?
There are no pets or kids that I’ve seen so far, and a whole floor that I don’t need to bother about.
I’m beginning to feel optimistic about this gig.
“It looks like you’re pretty neat, Ian,” I say and he beams.
“I try, but don’t let this fool you,” he stage-whispers behind the back of his hand. “I cleaned up before you arrived.”
“Still, that says something,” I add. I’m not sure what but I don’t say that. “And Lorna’s room?” I ask, deciding it’s better to just ask than tiptoe around the elephant in the room.
“This way,” he says, leading me out of his bedroom and one door down the long hall to another that is not quite as big or sumptuous as the master but it’s pretty damn sweet. I tell him as much.
“Yeah, the former owner was an old colleague of mine and I was blown away by this place. He never dressed the part of a guy who lived in a home like this.”
“Maybe he relied on his wife for the decor,” I offer. He shrugs.
“Anything’s possible.” He nods at the door. “Come on, let me show you the other guest bedrooms so you can pick the one that suits you.”
I like the way Ian puts things – ‘the one that suits me’ – emphasis on me.
In my experience, that’s a rare quality in a man and even more rare in a wealthy person, where the bigger the bank balance, the bigger the ego and asshole quotient.
I’m so sick of dealing with Karens who love rubbing my nose in the fact that I am nothing more than the hired help and deserve no consideration as a fully functional human being.
I follow Ian to the first doorway, lean in and suck in a breath.
The view out the windows is spectacular, as is the canopied bed, the sofa under the window, the old-fashioned vanity and a walk-in-freaking-closet, and best of all, my own bathroom.
I mean, come on! Who builds a house where every guest room gets its own bathroom?
“There are three others…” he begins but I cut him off.
“I’ll take this one, Ian.”