A flurry of snowflakes dimmed the light next to the door.
I knocked.
I jiggled in place as I waited, wishing I’d thought to wear boots. Snow had settled in a thick ring around my ankles and now melted in slow, icy rivulets into my sneakers.
I peeked through the window, shielding my eyes to block the reflection. No lights, no David.
I knocked again, louder this time.
I stepped back. In the glass, my head looked like it had been doused with powdered sugar. My mostly wet hair sat frozen in spiky ringlets around my face.
The wind knifed icy-cold air through my jean jacket. My teeth launched into a continuous chatter.
The thought of standing on the frozen porch another instant gave me the chills. But so did the thought of heading home without warming up first.
Come on, David.
I tested the back door handle. It turned easily.
The door opened a crack.
David had walked into my house without knocking, hadn’t he? At least I’d knocked a few times. He was probably upstairs getting into warm jammies and fuzzy slippers. I’d just wait in the back room for a few minutes and thaw out. If he didn’t come downstairs by the time my tootsies were toasty, I’d just sneak back out and he’d never even know I’d been here.
The door creaked as I opened it.
Tut, tut, I scolded the absent Rebecca. Squeaky hinges alert buyers to the possibility of other problems throughout the house. It didn’t take an architect to figure that one out.
I poked my head inside the dark hall. “Hello?”
No answer.
I stepped in and closed the door behind me. A heavy hush filled the air. I tapped my feet gently to knock the snow off, careful not to make too much noise.
I felt along the wall for a light switch. I found two. I flicked the first and the porch light blinked off. The second one turned on the overhead light in the spacious rear entry hall.
However predisposed I was to disliking Rebecca, I couldn’t help but admire her taste. The room looked ready for a photo shoot. Dark walnut paneling lined the lower half of the walls. Matching cubbies and a row of coat hooks filled the far end. Pale ivory-striped wallpaper covered the rest. A floral wreath in burgundy and green provided a focal point upon entry.
David’s coat hung askew in one cubby. The red scarf he’d been wearing lay on the floor, almost as if he’d been too rushed to hang it. Next to the scarf were his shoes. Melted snow puddled around them on the polished oak floor.
I panicked. If that mess didn’t get wiped up, there was a good chance the finish would be ruined. Then all anyone would see walking into the room would be a big dull patch on an otherwise flawless floor.
I slipped out of my wet shoes and lined them carefully on the entry rug. I tiptoed through the doorway and found myself in the kitchen.
“David?” I called.
I turned on the overhead light. The room was a chef’s dream. A long island wrapped in wood paneling fit down the center. Above it hung a rack of pots and pans, all shiny copper, looking as if they’d never been used. Cabinets and countertops lined two walls. Stainless steel appliances gave the room a clean, sterile appearance. This room alone must have cost a fortune.
The sink piled with dirty dishes was the only eyesore. I stole a few paper towels from the roll on the counter and slunk back to the mudroom.
I wiped up the water and stacked David’s shoes neatly on the rug where they could finish drying without doing any damage. Then I opened and closed under-counter cabinets in the kitchen until I found the trash bin.
I pitched in the wad of toweling. It landed in the garbage next to a small red foil envelope, the kind that gets held by that fork thingy in a floral arrangement.
I scrunched up my forehead in thought. My bouquet tonight hadn’t come with a little card. Maybe David had written something to me, then changed his mind and threw it away, too shy to share his feelings.
My hand shot out for the envelope.
I pulled back, not wanting to believe that I would actually dig through someone’s trash.
Oh, what could it hurt?
A floral greeting wasn’t exactly U.S. Mail.
I grabbed for it with two fingers. I straightened, flipping the foil paper over. There was no writing on it. I reached inside and pulled out the card.
Chunky black print jumped out at me: twenty-five years. remember that.
Not very romantic. The card had obviously been meant for some other flower arrangement. David certainly hadn’t penned those words with me in mind. Perhaps David had received flowers recently himself.
Parker floral designs was printed in the upper left corner of the card. That was a shop just down Main Street, one of my favorites. A grapevine arbor arched over the entryway, inviting passersby to step in and check out the knickknacks and doodads. Maybe I’d just have to do that one of these days.
I tucked the card in my jeans pocket, convinced that taking something already thrown away couldn’t be considered stealing.
Still, I had to face my dilemma. With no David in sight, I should leave the house. Otherwise, I could be deemed a trespasser. On the other hand, David had offered me a tour. Poking my head into a couple rooms on the first floor before I left couldn’t possibly hurt anything. Technically, I was here on invitation. I’d just arrived a little late.
I came to a compromise. I would only peek at one more room. If David hadn’t come downstairs by then, I was out the door and back home. With wet shoes off, my feet weren’t even cold anymore.
I took the archway to the left and found myself in the dining room. I didn’t dare turn on a light. But in the wash from the kitchen, I could see the ceiling was at least ten feet above the floor. The walls were done in dark wainscot and old-fashioned burgundy-on-gold wallpaper. A mammoth table filled the space beneath the chandelier.
Against the opposite wall, a monstrous cabinet loomed, like something from the Addams Family collection. A thin stream of light seeped from behind its doors.
I was drawn toward the beam like a moth to fire.
My hands glowed blue as they reached for starburst-shaped knobs. I pulled the doors open.
A funny-looking desktop computer provided the ambient light. The screen showed a picture of a woman in front of the restored Greek Revival. Her arms were flung wide as if to say, “I did it!” Reams of blonde hair lay gracefully on the collar of a fur swing coat. A short skirt accentuated her miles of legs. She had a flawless smile, a petite nose, and glimmering eyes. In short, she was the most beautiful woman on the planet.
Rebecca, no doubt.
And why not? The woman had talent and spunk. Beauty was a natural accompaniment.
No wonder David was sick to be losing her.
“She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?” David’s voice came from behind.
I whirled and screamed. I landed with my bottom sitting on the cabinet ledge.
“Please. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
He wore a wine-colored silky robe over top of loose cotton bottoms. A patch of chest hair peeked out.
“Wow.” I stood and brushed off the back of my pants. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m not snooping, honest. I changed my mind about that tour and thought I’d come over after all.” I gave a sheepish grin. “I did knock.”
His eyes shone bright blue even in the dim light. “Not to worry.” He walked toward me. “I see you’ve found my baby.”
“Yes.” I tried to plaster down my frizzed-out hair. “I had no idea Rebecca was so beautiful.”
He skirted past me and hit the space bar on the keyboard. “I meant my computer.”
“Oh.” I looked at the flat-screened contraption surrounded by wires and equipment. Rebecca’s face was gone, replaced by lines of text.
“Unfortunately, I’ll have to give you a rain check on that tour. I received an urgent message just as I walked
