Page 30 of Lavender Lake
There were only memories here.
The house smelled like bacon grease and familiarity. Half-drunk cups of coffee were in the sink. Dishes with forgotten food were on the table.
It was as though our whole family had gotten up from the table one night and left; just moved on to a new place and time.
But the house itself was a time capsule.
“You grew up here?” Bowman asked. The awe in his tone had me looking over my shoulder at him.
“Yeah.”
“God damn, you were lucky.” His eyes feasted, gorging themselves on every nook and cranny. He walked into the den, pastry boxes still in hand. He saw my grandmother’s patchwork chair and the fireplace.
“What was it like where you grew up?” I asked, taking the pastry boxes from him and walking toward the refrigerator.
“Not like this.Nothinglike this. I was lucky to get clean sheets.” He shook his head. “Wow, Powell. This isn’t what I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?” I asked in confusion.
“I don’t know. You hear cattle ranch and you start thinking of haciendas and huge windows. This is . . . this is . . .”
“Homey,” I finished for him. “It’s homey.”
“Yeah, and not at all showy.” He looked at me. “I was wrong about you.”
“Wrong about me? How?”
“The night we met. The clothes you wore. I knew you came from money. So I was expecting . . . not this.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that so I said nothing and began cleaning up the kitchen. Bowman helped, bringing me plates and wiping down the table. But he didn’t move the papers that were haphazardly strewn about.
“I’ll show you where you’re staying,” I said. “Oh, our luggage is still in Hadley’s car.”
“They’ll be back with it at some point.”
“Right,” I said, suddenly realizing we were alone. “Well, let me show you the upstairs.”
The second step from the bottom of the staircase squeaked.
“God, you even have a squeaky stair,” Bowman said with a chuckle. “This is great.”
I couldn’t help the smile that blossomed across my face. His enthusiasm for something I’d always taken for granted made my heart happy, though I couldn’t say why.
When we got to the second floor, I went to the linen closet and grabbed two sets of sheets. I opened the door to Hadley’s bedroom.
I set down the sheets with the tiny rosebud pattern, deriving joy from the visual of the big, masculine bull rider sleeping on something so dainty and feminine.
Bowman looked around, taking it all in.
“There’s the bathroom,” I said, pointing to another door. “We share it, so just make sure you knock before you enter.”
“Can I see your room?” he asked.
“My room? Why?”
“Curiosity.” He shrugged. “I promise I won’t throw you down on the bed and ravish you. Unless you want me to.”
“Behave,” I warned.
