"I've made do with my limited decorating skills," she
said with a wave of her hand. "I'd love your opinion." She
excused herself to the kitchen for a moment while Matthew
wandered from room to room.
Her apartment was a recently restored Victorian with black and
white tile at the entrance and hardwood floors throughout.
Dhurrie rugs in light colors covered the floors in the living and
dining rooms, and her furniture was a tasteful mixture of
contemporary and antique. The bedroom was tantalizing. Her bed
was an unusual steel frame design with a dreamy, sheer canopy
draped lightly over the top. Its message was at once powerful and
delicate. So were his feelings for her. He finished his tour and
circled back to the living room, where he found her standing and
holding two glasses filled with dessert wine. "Just a little sip,
before you drive back," she said, handing him a glass.
He inhaled the bright sweet aroma, his eyes lingering on her hand
encircling her own glass. She raised it to his, and he met her
sharp, gray eyes.
"Here's to you." Her voice was quiet.
He touched his glass to hers. They each took a sip and, with his
head still lowered, he let his eyes stray once more to her hand.
"You like my hands, don't you?" she asked simply, revealing her
mindfulness of his regard all along, confirming it.
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