Looking Inside

“I’ll get it,” Eleanor said, wiping her hands off with a dish towel and leaving her aunt in the kitchen.

A tight feeling expanded in her chest as she walked toward the front door. She knew it was Trey even before she opened it. Her breath caught at the vision of him standing on the front porch, his blue eyes sharp on her, his shoulders looking so broad in his black dress coat, his hands deep in the pockets.

She’d never seen a more welcome sight than that of him there at the front door of her childhood home.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said when she opened the storm door for him. “Your parents’ address was listed, and I saw the car in the driveway.”

“I don’t mind at all. We just finished dinner. I was about to call. Thanks for coming. I’m so glad to see you,” she told him with breathless sincerity. She opened the door wider and beckoned him inside. Her gaze traveled over his handsome face in fresh wonder. It was as if she were seeing him for the first time. She knew her heart was in her eyes, but she couldn’t seem to control her zeal for seeing him.

“I should have called sooner, but it’s been one thing after

another all day,” she said. “Here, let me take your coat.”

“How’s your father?” Trey asked her as she led him into the living room a few seconds later.

“He’s fantastic.” The Christmas tree was lit. She turned on an extra lamp. “If I didn’t know for certain he’d had a heart attack last night, I would have never believed it, seeing him today.”

“I’m glad,” he said, his gaze running over her face. “You look better too. Relieved.”

“Thanks. It has been a relief, seeing him so much better today,” she said, flushing in pleasure at the gleam in his eyes as he studied her closely. She thought of how he’d been there for her last night, how he’d held her while a storm of grief had shook her. A moment of awkwardness suddenly came over her. He somehow shrunk the dimensions of the familiar living room. He seemed so big standing there, so vibrant. So wonderful.

“Trey? I thought I heard your voice.”

Eleanor blinked and looked up at the sound of Joan’s voice. Her aunt stood at the entryway, smiling. Trey greeted her.

“We just finished dinner. Chicken, a baked potato, broccoli. It was a little bland, but healthy as can be. Should I warm up something for you?” Joan asked him.

“No, I’ve already eaten. But thanks.”

Eleanor smiled when he glanced back at her. “Just his luck,” she told Joan. “He’d just sampled Mom’s leftovers from Thanksgiving and fallen hard for Russian cooking. Now there’s been a halt to Russian feasts.”

“I’m sure he’ll have plenty of opportunity to sample Catherine’s famous cooking, at least on the holidays, if not every day. All things in moderation. I’m going to get back to the dishes,” Joan said with a wave of the dish towel she carried.

“So,” Trey said gruffly when they were alone again. He glanced around the cozily lit living room. “This is where you grew up. It’s nice.”

“Yep. This was home. For eighteen years of my life, anyway.”

“Somehow, your childhood home is always home,” he said. His gaze skated over her, and suddenly he cursed softly under his breath. He stepped toward her and took her into his arms. He bent his knees and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Eleanor looped her arms around his neck, responding wholesale to his kiss.

“When’s it going to stop?” he asked her a moment later, his lips brushing against hers. She plucked at his mouth hungrily before responding.

“When is what going to stop?” she wondered, distracted by his scent, and the feeling of his body pressed against hers, by his kiss.

“That awkwardness. When we first see each other,” he murmured, shaping her lower lip between his. “I vote for right now.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll try. No more awkwardness.”

He leaned back, peering down at her closely. “Promise?”

“Yes,” she whispered fervently.

A smile curled his mouth. He glanced downward at a table.

“Is that you?” he asked.

“Huh?”

He released her and stepped toward an end table. He picked up a framed family photo and examined it.