All I Ever Wanted(61)

Ian didn’t seem to know what to say. “Uh… Sure. I’ll show you the way.”

Annie beamed and started off. “So, Ian, tell me about yourself,” she said merrily, then proceeded to fill him in on the wonder that was me. “Callie and I have been friends since we moved here when I was in fourth grade. She came right up and said hi, and the rest is history!”

The path from the lake was lovely, just wide enough for two people. The clouds had blown off, but the pines were so thick here the sunlight only broke through in patches, spilling gold on the forest floor. Ian’s dog padded silently beside me. “How are you, Angie?” I asked, petting the dog’s silky head. “Are you a beautiful girl?” She wagged her tail in confirmation that yes, indeed she was. “‘Angie… Aaaangie. Ain’t it good to be ali-i-i-ive?’” I sang in a whisper. It was, after all, our tradition.

Ahead of me, Annie was yakking away. Ian rubbed his neck with one hand, trying to answer Annie’s prying questions, such as…

“So, Ian, are you married?” My friend blinked up at him.

“I’m divorced,” he said, glancing back at me as if in a plea for help.

“How sad!” Annie sang. “How long has it been?”

“Two years.”

Annie turned and pulled a gruesome face meant to indicate joy and hope. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find a special some—”

“Look! A deer!” I barked. The deer fled, white tail flashing as it leaped neatly into the woods. I took the opportunity to trot up to Annie and pinch her. Hard. “Stop it,” I mouthed.

“What are you talking about?” she mouthed back, then said aloud, “Is this your place? It’s beautiful!”

Ah. We were here. I stopped in my tracks.

The woods thinned out to a backyard. The grass had recently been cut, the fresh, sweet scent filling the air. The house was a green two-story farmhouse with a beautiful gray slate roof…a classic New England design, but, if I wasn’t mistaken, recently overhauled. New windows, I thought. Fresh paint.

“This is very pretty, Ian,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said. “Um…would you like to come in?” It was clear he didn’t know how to avoid asking us.

“Sure! I’d love some coffee,” Annie said, shooting me another joyful look.

We walked around the side yard, which had a bank of mature lilac trees along one side. I could only imagine the smell in the springtime. Then we came to the front, and once again, I stopped short.

We were on the edge of a large field thick with goldenrod and late-blooming black-eyed Susans. Dragonflies dipped and skimmed, and finches flew in and out of the long grass. A stone wall ran along one side…a real stone wall, the Robert Frost variety, uneven and sincere. The gravel driveway led out to the unseen road—it would be hell to plow come winter, but who cared? About two hundred yards off was a large stand of maples, already topped in red. Ian would be in for quite a show in a few more weeks.

“Come on in,” Ian said. Did I mention he was wearing faded Levis? I suppressed a lustful sigh and followed him onto the porch, then turned to take in the view (of the natural scenery, not his ass, though both were compelling). The wide porch wrapped around on the western side. Perfect for sunsets. No railing, just an unobscured view of the field. A person could spend all day sitting on a porch like this, listening to the birds and the wind in the grass, the smell of pines rich and sharp in the air…

“You coming, Callie?” Annie chirped.

“Sure,” I said distantly, tearing my eyes off the view.

“This place is gorgeous!” she hissed. “And he’s not so bad himself! Oh, my God, those eyes!”

“Can you keep it down, please?” I asked. Ian was already inside.

“I wish I wasn’t married,” she murmured. “I’m serious. I’m leaving Jack.”

“Super. I’ve always had a thing for him. Now’s my chance,” I said, stepping into the house.

The interior of the house was pretty damn impressive, too. Clearly, an architect had done this, because it had that sleek, perfect feeling…smooth, shiny hardwood floors, streamlined bookcases, funky steel light fixtures. The overall effect was very modern, and maybe a little stark. And beautiful, because it was that, too. Expensive-looking furniture was well placed throughout, reinforcing the slightly chilly tone—I didn’t see a place where slumping and flopping could be executed too well, a far cry from the sofa I’d brought to Noah’s, which was aging leather and deliciously broken-in, a piece that seemed to invite a running start. But the house was beautiful.

And it was clean. Immaculate, even. I was a fair housekeeper myself, but not like this.

Off the great room was the kitchen, which had more steel light fixtures and slate countertops. Ian was already there, measuring out coffee beans.

“How long have you lived here?” Annie asked, gesturing me to heel.

“Not that long,” he answered, not looking at her. “Four months.”

“How old is the house?” she asked. Honestly, I was surprised she didn’t whip out her phone and start taking pictures.

“It was built in 1932,” Ian answered. “My uncle bought it in the sixties, and after he died, I bought it from the bank. Had it redone when I bought the practice.”