choice.
* * *
Ted arrived at about a quarter to six. I was putting my jet chandelier earrings in as I walked down the steps to open the door. He looked fantastic: dark jeans, a navy pinstripe dress shirt, a brown leather jacket.
He handed me a single red rose. “Pretty corny, huh?”
I smiled. “Pretty sweet.” Despite the heels, I had to put my hand on the back of his neck to draw him down for a kiss. “Let me put this rosebud in water and let Angus into the house, and then we can go.”
“I have to admit I’m kinda nervous,” he called to me from the foyer. “Doesn’t that sound crazy?”
I grinned to myself and wondered if I should tell him I was feeling a little nervous too.
Naaah.
Instead I let Angus in through the back door, and he raced through the kitchen to see Ted.
“Hey, buddy,” Ted said, stooping down to energetically pet Angus with both hands.
“He used to make you nervous too,” I reminded Ted.
He laughed. “Yeah, he did, didn’t he?”
“So, you’re making your
famous
chicken piccata for me, huh?”
“Yep. Speaking of which, we’d better be going.” On the drive to his apartment, he confessed that it wasn’t necessarily his
famous
chicken piccata but it was actually an easy go-to dish his mother had taught him before he left home for college.
Ted’s apartment complex consisted of three identical chocolate-and-tan two-story buildings, each sectioned into four individual units. Signs in front of the buildings designated their names: the Westchester, the Somerville, and the Lincoln. Ted’s apartment was the end unit on the right side of the Westchester.
The apartments’ landscaping was beautiful. Small evergreen trees, smooth white rocks, and round beige stepping-stones lined the walkways from the parking lots to the apartments and the common areas. Each building had two covered maple swings—one at either end. With the verandas on the back of each unit, residents were assured of plenty of room to enjoy the outdoors.
“Welcome to my humble, messy home,” Ted said, opening the door to the apartment.
I stepped inside and looked around. “You call
this
messy?”
The living room looked more like a just-passing-through room. There was no clutter, no dust, and certainly no mess. The walls were painted taupe, and much of the room was taken up by a long black leather sofa. Directly across from the sofa was a beige brick fireplace. The stone reminded me of those outside, and I appreciated the designer’s attention to the cohesive aesthetic.
Above the fireplace was a flat-screen television. Its remote control was on the coffee table in front of the sofa. The only other thing on the table was a tray of cork-backed coasters with the Tallulah Falls lighthouse on the front. To the right of the sofa was a matching chair with a neatly folded red-and-black-plaid blanket lying on the seat. A silver floor lamp gleamed in the corner.
Built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace held a Blu-ray disc player, a video game console and controllers, and an assortment of video games. There was also an eclectic mix of books on the shelves: the Holy Bible, books on forensics and biometrics, criminology textbooks, a volume of Keats poetry, and popular fiction by Koontz, Coben, and Deaver. You can tell a lot about a man by the books he reads. Ted was a complex man—even more so than I’d originally realized.
I smiled up at him. “I love your apartment. It’s very Ted Nash.”
He dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “Thank you . . . I think. I just hope that after you’ve seen the whole place, you won’t be disappointed.”
“I won’t be.”
“Ah, but you haven’t seen my office yet,” he said. “It’s where I go to think. But it can wait until after we eat. I’m starving.” He took my hand and led me to the kitchen.
Like the living room, the kitchen was neat, tidy, and efficient. The appliances were stainless steel, the cabinets were glossy black with thin, tubular silver
* * *
Ted arrived at about a quarter to six. I was putting my jet chandelier earrings in as I walked down the steps to open the door. He looked fantastic: dark jeans, a navy pinstripe dress shirt, a brown leather jacket.
He handed me a single red rose. “Pretty corny, huh?”
I smiled. “Pretty sweet.” Despite the heels, I had to put my hand on the back of his neck to draw him down for a kiss. “Let me put this rosebud in water and let Angus into the house, and then we can go.”
“I have to admit I’m kinda nervous,” he called to me from the foyer. “Doesn’t that sound crazy?”
I grinned to myself and wondered if I should tell him I was feeling a little nervous too.
Naaah.
Instead I let Angus in through the back door, and he raced through the kitchen to see Ted.
“Hey, buddy,” Ted said, stooping down to energetically pet Angus with both hands.
“He used to make you nervous too,” I reminded Ted.
He laughed. “Yeah, he did, didn’t he?”
“So, you’re making your
famous
chicken piccata for me, huh?”
“Yep. Speaking of which, we’d better be going.” On the drive to his apartment, he confessed that it wasn’t necessarily his
famous
chicken piccata but it was actually an easy go-to dish his mother had taught him before he left home for college.
Ted’s apartment complex consisted of three identical chocolate-and-tan two-story buildings, each sectioned into four individual units. Signs in front of the buildings designated their names: the Westchester, the Somerville, and the Lincoln. Ted’s apartment was the end unit on the right side of the Westchester.
The apartments’ landscaping was beautiful. Small evergreen trees, smooth white rocks, and round beige stepping-stones lined the walkways from the parking lots to the apartments and the common areas. Each building had two covered maple swings—one at either end. With the verandas on the back of each unit, residents were assured of plenty of room to enjoy the outdoors.
“Welcome to my humble, messy home,” Ted said, opening the door to the apartment.
I stepped inside and looked around. “You call
this
messy?”
The living room looked more like a just-passing-through room. There was no clutter, no dust, and certainly no mess. The walls were painted taupe, and much of the room was taken up by a long black leather sofa. Directly across from the sofa was a beige brick fireplace. The stone reminded me of those outside, and I appreciated the designer’s attention to the cohesive aesthetic.
Above the fireplace was a flat-screen television. Its remote control was on the coffee table in front of the sofa. The only other thing on the table was a tray of cork-backed coasters with the Tallulah Falls lighthouse on the front. To the right of the sofa was a matching chair with a neatly folded red-and-black-plaid blanket lying on the seat. A silver floor lamp gleamed in the corner.
Built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace held a Blu-ray disc player, a video game console and controllers, and an assortment of video games. There was also an eclectic mix of books on the shelves: the Holy Bible, books on forensics and biometrics, criminology textbooks, a volume of Keats poetry, and popular fiction by Koontz, Coben, and Deaver. You can tell a lot about a man by the books he reads. Ted was a complex man—even more so than I’d originally realized.
I smiled up at him. “I love your apartment. It’s very Ted Nash.”
He dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “Thank you . . . I think. I just hope that after you’ve seen the whole place, you won’t be disappointed.”
“I won’t be.”
“Ah, but you haven’t seen my office yet,” he said. “It’s where I go to think. But it can wait until after we eat. I’m starving.” He took my hand and led me to the kitchen.
Like the living room, the kitchen was neat, tidy, and efficient. The appliances were stainless steel, the cabinets were glossy black with thin, tubular silver
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