Page 57 of I Love You, I Hate You

“Not here. Across the lake, in a slightly less massive place.”

“Define slightly.”

“Five thousand square feet instead of six. And an outdoor pool, not an indoor one.”

“This place has an indoor pool? Are you kidding me?”

“Indoor pool and a wine cellar the size of most apartments. Oh, and a sauna.”

“God, I hate rich people,” she said.

He grinned. “Me too.” Owen crossed his arms, only in a thin sweater despite the winter air, and trotted down the front walk toward her. “You came a long way to return a sweatshirt,” he said, and her stomach fluttered at the familiar dark tone in his voice. But she lifted her chin and pretended it didn’t affect her, because that was how they played this game.

“Apparently, I came a long way to get a tour of a freaking mansion, because holy shit, Owen,” she said, brushing past him blithely. “How good is this wine cellar?”

“How expensive is your taste?”

“I usually buy one step above boxed wine, but I’ve had the good shit at work parties.” She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Wait, before I go in—what’s the decor? Classy New England cottage-on-the cape? That weird, overly patterned rich-people look from 1995? Full-on rococo gold and peach nightmare?”

He laughed, and her stomach leapt. She’d missed that sound more than she realized. “You do not pull any punches, do you?”

“You said you didn’t grow up here, so what do you care? I want to be prepared to be as judgy as possible once we’re inside.”

Owen stepped close enough to her that she could feel the heat radiating off him. “You could just go inside, you know,” he said, his lips tantalizingly close to her ear.

Victoria turned and grasped the doorknob behind her back, grinning. “Just upping the anticipation,” she teased, gratified when his eyes flashed.

He reached around her, his hand warm over hers, and turned the knob. “Then let’s give you a tour,” he murmured.

Victoria dropped her jacket and purse in a pile beside the door. “Go on, booboo,” Owen said when a lithe grey cat emerged to sniff her things. “Back in the living room.” He nudged the cat away and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Where do you want to start?”

She looked around at the grand, sweeping staircase and the polished floors. This entryway alone was as big as some of the apartments she had shared with her mom. “Kitchen,” she decided.

She let out a little moan when they entered, because the kitchen was gorgeous. A central island had its own sink, and the range was big enough to cook Thanksgiving for a small army. The fridge hummed softly in the corner and recessed lights under the cabinets gave the butcher-block countertops a warm glow. “I’m so jealous right now,” she muttered, randomly opening a cabinet to find a giant stand mixer.

“Do you cook?”

“Only out of necessity. But if I had a kitchen like this, I could. Or I could stand in it andlooklike I cook, which is just as good.”

“I feel like you’d like Ashley,” he said with a half-grin. “I’m pretty sure that was her rationale for this kitchen as well.”

“I bet she’s got an awesome Instagram.”

“It’s very good at making people jealous, yes.”

“Smart woman,” Victoria replied. “She’s around our age, you said?”

“Yeah, just a year older. I went to high school with her.”

“And you get along?”

He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms. His biceps bulged through the thin sweater he was wearing, and she let her gaze linger appreciatively. “We do. Better than I do with my dad, actually, but we’re working on it.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“It’s depressingly ordinary. Workaholic dad, kid feels neglected, takes it out on him by becoming what he hates the most.”

“A lawyer?”