“Are these your parents?”
He glanced over. “Yeah. It was taken a few months ago.”
Brandon had his mom’s blonde curls and her eyes, but the rest of him was his father. The four of them had their arms around each other, with his petite mom standing in the protective embrace of her husband. Brandon and his dad were laughing. Dylan kissed his mother’s cheek. She was beaming.
“Your mom is tiny.” Her head barely came up to Brandon’s dad’s shoulder.
“Imagine how much fun it was for her to have two ten-pound sons, eleven months apart.”
Emily did her best not to flinch in sympathy.
Brandon handed her the drink. He poured himself some iced tea. “Let’s go out on the deck for a minute.”
Besides wondering if Brandon had stock in some type of maple furniture factory, Emily had a better idea why he bought the house. It was bigger than it looked from the street. The view from his dining and living room was breathtaking. The rooms overlooked Lake Washington, stretching all the way to the 520 floating bridge and the Space Needle and Columbia Center over the hill on the opposite side.
“This must be great in the summertime,” she said as they passed through the French doors onto his deck.
“It’s great even when it’s freezing out here. I love the view.”
Emily enjoyed watching the boats move across the water until the breeze kicked up. She shivered.
“You’re chilly, sugar,” Brandon said. “Let’s go back inside. Plus, you haven’t had the grand tour yet.” He took her elbow.
“I thought we were going to Damian’s for dinner.”
“There’s time. Come on.”
The dining room featured an expandable maple table and hardwood chairs with padding in a hunter green fabric. “I don’t eat in here unless my mama makes dinner for everyone,” he explained. “She kept telling me, though, that I needed a nice table and chairs, so I bought them.”
They moved into the living room, which had overstuffed furniture in dark green patterned upholstery. A heavy-looking wood-and-glass coffee table sat in front of a gas fireplace. More framed family photos leaned against the opposite wall. A folk-art painting of what looked like Tuscany leaned against the wall over the mantelpiece. It all looked comfortable, but there was an air of the unfinished. Brandon either didn’t spend a lot of time at home, or he wasn’t big on hanging pictures.
“I love that,” Emily said. She nodded at the painting.
“I was told I needed something bright for when it’s gray outside.”
He led her down the hallway to a door he opened with a flourish. “This is my room.”
This, too, was nothing like she had expected. The king size bed was of more maple, a simple design with a Mission-style headboard and no footboard. She imagined his feet hanging over this bed the way they hung over the edge of hers. The sheets and pillowcases were navy blue. The whole thing was covered with a quilt in varying prints, but predominantly in shades of blue. Another quilt was folded lengthwise and spread across the foot of the bed.
It looked cozy and comfortable. Emily resisted the impulse to crawl inside.
The nightstand had a stack of books, a cordless telephone in a base, and a clock radio. Her roaming gaze caught a professionally framed photo of Brandon on the wall. He stood in what appeared to be an end zone, his arms over his head, holding a football.
She pointed at it. “You have the ball.”
“I picked off Denver’s quarterback on a tip drill and ran it into the end zone last year.”
“Good job, bruiser. That’s a touchdown, right?” He grinned at her as he nodded. “It’s nice in here,” she said.
“There’s nothing pink or ruffly,” he said.
“I could fix that for you.” Emily touched the quilt at the foot of his bed. “This is gorgeous.”
“My grandma McKenna made it for me.” He indicated an open door on the other side of his room. “I had a jetted tub put in the bathroom last year.”
The upstairs of Brandon’s house boasted two large skylights and the steepest staircase she’d ever encountered.
“I sleep up here when my parents come to town. It’s easier for me to get up and down the stairs than it is for them. Dylan stays here, too.”