“A house I want to show you.”
“In this neighborhood?”
Tackle reached over and took my hand. “Keep an open mind.”
“Houses in Chestnut Hill go for millions of dollars.”
He laughed. “Not all of them.” He slowed the car. “Close your eyes.”
“No.”
“Pretend you’re naked, Sloane.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
“Oh my God. Okay, I’m naked.”
“Now, close your eyes.”
As much as it had been a joke a few seconds ago, when Tackle used his growly, gravelly voice, his wish was my command.
The car kept moving, but slowly, then stopped. “Eyes still closed?”
“Yes.”
“Do not open them.”
“Yes, sir,” I joked.
His door closed, and seconds later, mine opened.
“Closed,” he whispered as something soft covered my eyes. Whatever it was, felt like silk, and he tied it at the back of my head. “Give me your hand.”
Tackle helped me from the car and, with one arm around my back and the other holding my hand, led me a few feet from it. “We’ll be going up ten steps. Ready?”
I nodded.
“A few feet more.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Trust me, Sloane.”
We stopped, and he removed the silk covering my eyes. “Okay, open.”
I gasped. “You remembered,” I said so quietly I almost couldn’t hear myself speak.
“When my dad asked me to meet him here a few weeks ago, I couldn’t believe it.”
Back when our family first moved to Newton, Tackle and my brother used to come to the park on the other side of the street and play football. It was where Knox broke his neck.
One day, they brought me with them; I couldn’t remember why. My parents had probably asked my brother to babysit.
Instead of watching whatever they were doing, I sat on a bench and stared across the street at the house I now stood under the portico of.
It was dilapidated then, and now it was worse, but when I looked at it, all I could see was its former grandeur.
I turned around to look at the park and wondered why Tackle had brought me here. “Is it for sale?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“Oh.”
“Come on, let’s go in.”
“We can’t.”
“Sure, we can.” He kept a tight grasp on my hand with one of his while he opened the front door with the other.
“They just left it open?”
“Not quite.” He closed the door behind us. “How about a tour?”
“Tackle—”
He pulled me into his arms and kissed me. “Trust me,” he repeated.
“Okay.”
We walked into the foyer. On the left was a formal dining room, and on the right, a parlor. Both had big windows that looked out over the expanse of the front lawn and the park across the street.
“There used to be a piano that sat in this front window,” I said, surprising myself at the memory.
“This is one of four fireplaces,” Tackle said, pointing to it as we walked out of that room, down the hallway to the door that led to the kitchen.
It was twice as large as my parents’, and while I’d never considered a kitchen beautiful, this one was. It had high ceilings and more cupboards than I’d ever seen in a person’s home. “Is someone renovating the place?” I asked, running my hand over the brand-new chef’s cooktop.
“Someone is.” Tackle went back through the swinging door. “This is where the second fireplace is,” he said, motioning to a sitting room smaller than the front parlor. Windows with a view of the backyard lined two of the outer walls. “The house sits on two acres—almost unheard of in this part of the state.”
He led me over to the staircase; I followed him up and to the front of the house.
“This is the master bedroom. The bathrooms need more work than other parts of the house, other than the kitchen.”
There was a window seat that stretched out across three-quarters of the room. I remembered that too and the daydreams I’d had about sitting on it and reading. I couldn’t help but wonder why Tackle was talking about the place so intimately. “Is this one of your dad’s projects?” I asked.
“Sort of.” He walked through another doorway. “There is plenty of room for a large bathroom as well as a walk-in closet. Two, actually.”
Still at the front of the house but across the hall sat another small bedroom.
“There’s one more bedroom on this floor, and behind the master is what once might have been that era’s laundry room.”
“You’re kidding.” I went down the hall and through the swinging door. The room’s floor and backsplash were white tile, and it had cupboards similar to those in the kitchen.
Tackle pointed to a back staircase. “Your favorite method of escape,” he said, winking. “The third floor has four small bedrooms and what was probably once a sitting area. My guess is two of the rooms were for the servants and the other two were part of a nursery.”
“It’s amazing, Tackle. Thank you for bringing me here. I’ve always wanted to see what it looked like inside. I can’t wait to see what whoever owns it will do with it.”
He walked closer to where I stood and took both my hands in his. “Sloane, I own it.”
“What?” I gasped.
“My father and I, but with the idea that once I’m able to buy him out, I will.”
I leaned against the wall. “Why?”
“My mother said it was a premonition.”
I closed my eyes when the vertigo I’d experienced last night returned. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m renovating it, Sloane, with my father’s help. My intention is to make it a home.”
“For whom?”
“I won’t make the same mistake I did last time with assumptions, but I hope one day you’ll consider living here with me.”
I put my hand on my belly when I thought I felt the baby move.
“Do you want to see the rest of it?”
I still felt too dizzy to walk. “There’s more?”
“We haven’t seen the third floor yet, and then there’s the carriage house in the back.”
“A carriage house?”
“It’s a four-car garage with storage on the main level and a large apartment above it. Come. We can see
