The Liar

“You’ve got the best of both. You could do a pretty sitting room here, or first-floor office, guest room.” She studied another empty room. “It’s such a nice view through the windows there of the trees, and just that little bend of the creek. If you put your office here, you could float the desk in the center of the room so you could see out, but not have your back to the door. Then you could— And there I go again.”

“You can keep going. It’s a good idea.”

“Well, I was going to be a singing sensation, but interior design was my fallback. I took a couple classes in college.”

“Seriously? Why didn’t I know that?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I’m going to use you. But right now, I’m going to get you some wine.”

“I wouldn’t mind a glass.” Just one, she thought, with plenty of time to burn off before she got in the van again. “Something smells really good. I didn’t expect you to—”

She broke off in wonder.

Everything just opened up. Where she remembered seeing a warren of rooms, a dingy dining room separated by walls and a door from a small and even dingier kitchen, what she’d supposed had been maids’ and cooks’ quarters was now one wonderful space that brought the hills, the trees, the creek inside through a wall of glass doors.

“I guess I went a little shiny and bold in here.”

“No, no, not bold. Beautiful. Look at the size of that farm sink. And I love how you glass-fronted so many of the cabinets.”

“Even if most of them are still empty.”

“You’ll fill them in time. I’d haunt the flea markets and yard sales, find me some old crockery. Maybe old teapots or cups and display them in those over there. And . . .”

She stopped herself before she decorated his house from top to bottom.

“It’s such a nice flow into the dining area here and the, I guess, lounge area there. You could live in this one space. So much counter space. What is this?”

“Slate.”

“It’s just perfect, isn’t it? So handsome. My mama would cry for that cooktop. I love the lights, that pale amber tone against the bronze. You designed all this?”

“I got input from my dad, from Matt, from a couple engineers I know. An architect. When you grow up with a contractor, you tend to make contacts.”

“Still, it’s your work. It feels like you. Honestly, I’ve never seen a more beautiful kitchen, and one that fits so well into this house. You have all the convenience, but the character’s right here. You could entertain half the Ridge in here. It must be a joy to cook in.”

“I don’t cook much.” He tugged on his ear. “Your basics mostly. But I figured if I ever had a place, did my own kitchen rehab, I’d go for the gold and see if I could reach it. Kitchen’s the heart of the house.”

“It is, and this one’s big and beautiful.”

“You haven’t seen the best part.”

He handed her a glass of wine, picked up his own, then walked to the wall of doors. When he opened them, they folded back like an accordion, tucked away, and brought the outside in.

“Oh, that is the best part. That’s fantastic. Warm nights, sunny mornings, you can just leave them open. And for parties.”

She stepped out, sighed.

“Still a lot to do out here yet. I’ve barely hit this part of the workable grounds.”

“You can’t beat the view.”

And now with her, he looked out over the still scrubby yard to the great green domes. They rose, soft and misty, with the quieting light.

“You can’t. Any season,” he added. “A couple months ago I looked out at snow, and it stayed white or silver gray up in the higher elevations into April. And last fall? I’ve never seen color like that, and we get some pretty jazzy foliage in Maryland. But the miles of it. Just miles of it rolling up into the sky? Every day for weeks, it just dazzled.”

He loved it, she realized, and more, understood it. The old Tripplehorn place was lucky he’d settled in.

“You can hear the creek bubbling,” she said, and found the sound more romantic than violins. “You could have a big cutting garden out here, plant things that draw butterflies and hummingbirds. And there’s enough sun you could have herbs planted right outside your kitchen—for when you do cook.”

“Maybe you could help me figure that out.”

“I have very strong opinions about such things.” She lifted her face to the breeze. “You should plant some blooming weepers, and get yourself a big wind chime for that old oak over there. Something that gives a deep, masculine tone, and a couple bird feeders—but up off the top porch or the bears could come calling.”

“I’d rather they didn’t. I’ve seen a couple sort of lumber along in the woods—when I’ve looked out. That’s close enough for me when it comes to bears.”

“I envy you this place, Griff. The feel of it, the look of it, the potential of it and the history. I like that someone I know has it, and more, knows just what to do with it. I didn’t realize you were this good.”

“Is that right?”