floor-to-ceiling windows was bisected by a cut-stone fireplace hearth that screamed elegance. Not bothering to look further, she hurried through an open dining room. There had to be a bathroom somewhere.
The soles of her boots clicked on tiled floors before she found a half bath off a laundry room the size of her kitchen. She barely made it before wetting her pants. She washed her hands and reentered the eerily quiet kitchen and smiled. Jinx had left a newspaper scattered across the speckled granite counter top, as well as a coffee cup and the crumbs from some toast. An empty orange juice box made her think he drank it straight from the carton.
She shed her coat and hooked it on the back of a tall bar stool and went exploring. Attached to the kitchen was a formal dining room with a gleaming table for eight. Her face shone in the polished surface, making her wonder if it had ever been used. The chandelier sparkled in the harsh morning sun, sending prisms of light across the deep cherry finish. The living room, now that her eyeballs were no longer floating, seemed very masculine. Like a gentleman’s club, with its heavy furniture and brass accents, it oozed grandeur. It was pristine with not a speck of dust or personalization around. Even the fireplace was dust free and swept to picture-perfect cleanliness. The logs beside it dared not shed any bark.
Frannie fingered her lip in confusion and ventured down the hall. Does he even really live here? The next room answered her question.
The master suite was huge and Jinx had definitely been here. Crumpled in a heap beside the rumpled king-size bed were the clothes he had worn last night. The dresser top held loose change, a few pens, a set of keys and several folded pink message slips. Socks spilled out of an opened drawer. His unique scent lingered in the air and the room felt like a home. From the hallway, she turned to the left. A huge den held his monster-sized TV and audio equipment. On a wall-sized computer desk, two flatscreen monitors displayed screen-saver balls bouncing out of rhythm. For someone whose company’s opposed to technology, he sure has a lot of it.
The house reflected his confusing personality. Its formal grandeur hid the slob who left towels in a heap on the bathroom floor, like his outward face hid his down-home normalcy. Was he like the architectural elegance of the living room or was he the everyday TV room with the stray popcorn kernels in the seat cushions?
Her attention was snagged by a long narrow shelf holding treasured family photos. Frannie easily picked out his parents and siblings. One old photo showed a family of four adults with a dark-haired imp peeking from behind his father’s shoulder. Jinx was an adorable child. Happiness and mischief beamed in his bright face.
A small frame shoved in a corner showed a younger Jinx, thinner and on the brink of manhood, with his arms around a blond girl who should have been modeling shampoo. A prom picture, judging from the cardboard background and the girl’s formal dress. Two other pictures showed the couple in later years, each grown into the promise of their youth. They had apparently been together a long time. Who was she?
Touching the picture, Frannie sighed. Whoever she was, she was beautiful. This was the type of woman Jinx deserved, the type he would be content with throughout his life. His type deserved models who ate nothing but lettuce, debutantes who lunched and volunteered, American princesses who wore the latest Paris fashion. Not some bland, brainy accountant who made meatloaf and had a narcoleptic cat.
“So I like beautiful women. You make it sound like a crime, Fran. There’s only so much vanilla a man can stand when the world’s filled with thousands of exotic flavors.”
Her chin shot up in defiance at Mark’s memory and she pulled herself away from the photo shelf. That picture decided things for her. She wanted to grab what happiness she could before he left. She hoped
The soles of her boots clicked on tiled floors before she found a half bath off a laundry room the size of her kitchen. She barely made it before wetting her pants. She washed her hands and reentered the eerily quiet kitchen and smiled. Jinx had left a newspaper scattered across the speckled granite counter top, as well as a coffee cup and the crumbs from some toast. An empty orange juice box made her think he drank it straight from the carton.
She shed her coat and hooked it on the back of a tall bar stool and went exploring. Attached to the kitchen was a formal dining room with a gleaming table for eight. Her face shone in the polished surface, making her wonder if it had ever been used. The chandelier sparkled in the harsh morning sun, sending prisms of light across the deep cherry finish. The living room, now that her eyeballs were no longer floating, seemed very masculine. Like a gentleman’s club, with its heavy furniture and brass accents, it oozed grandeur. It was pristine with not a speck of dust or personalization around. Even the fireplace was dust free and swept to picture-perfect cleanliness. The logs beside it dared not shed any bark.
Frannie fingered her lip in confusion and ventured down the hall. Does he even really live here? The next room answered her question.
The master suite was huge and Jinx had definitely been here. Crumpled in a heap beside the rumpled king-size bed were the clothes he had worn last night. The dresser top held loose change, a few pens, a set of keys and several folded pink message slips. Socks spilled out of an opened drawer. His unique scent lingered in the air and the room felt like a home. From the hallway, she turned to the left. A huge den held his monster-sized TV and audio equipment. On a wall-sized computer desk, two flatscreen monitors displayed screen-saver balls bouncing out of rhythm. For someone whose company’s opposed to technology, he sure has a lot of it.
The house reflected his confusing personality. Its formal grandeur hid the slob who left towels in a heap on the bathroom floor, like his outward face hid his down-home normalcy. Was he like the architectural elegance of the living room or was he the everyday TV room with the stray popcorn kernels in the seat cushions?
Her attention was snagged by a long narrow shelf holding treasured family photos. Frannie easily picked out his parents and siblings. One old photo showed a family of four adults with a dark-haired imp peeking from behind his father’s shoulder. Jinx was an adorable child. Happiness and mischief beamed in his bright face.
A small frame shoved in a corner showed a younger Jinx, thinner and on the brink of manhood, with his arms around a blond girl who should have been modeling shampoo. A prom picture, judging from the cardboard background and the girl’s formal dress. Two other pictures showed the couple in later years, each grown into the promise of their youth. They had apparently been together a long time. Who was she?
Touching the picture, Frannie sighed. Whoever she was, she was beautiful. This was the type of woman Jinx deserved, the type he would be content with throughout his life. His type deserved models who ate nothing but lettuce, debutantes who lunched and volunteered, American princesses who wore the latest Paris fashion. Not some bland, brainy accountant who made meatloaf and had a narcoleptic cat.
“So I like beautiful women. You make it sound like a crime, Fran. There’s only so much vanilla a man can stand when the world’s filled with thousands of exotic flavors.”
Her chin shot up in defiance at Mark’s memory and she pulled herself away from the photo shelf. That picture decided things for her. She wanted to grab what happiness she could before he left. She hoped
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