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S tone smiled as they gathered their things. If Juliana was lame for wanting to head home, then she was in good company. The club was his family, every member his brother. But he liked alone time. Not that he’d be alone tonight, but having Juliana with him was a bonus, not a trial. The image of them curled up on his couch, eating pizza and listening to music as they decompressed from their day was all too easy to conjure.

As he ushered her down the hall, the reality of the situation hit him. He loved his house and all of its quirky charm, but would she? Would she like the way he’d renovated it and appreciate the beauty of the land? Or would she think it much too big and too far from town?

Mantis and Charley appeared in front of them, stopping the downward spiral of his thoughts with questions about what they’d learned that afternoon. Juliana answered most, and he liked seeing her grow more comfortable with his brothers, his family. Still, he was grateful the others had wandered to their rooms to clean up for dinner and they weren’t waylaid by meeting everyone. As it was, by the time they pulled onto the driveway leading to his house, it was nearly eight o’clock.

Trees filtered out much of the evening light, but dim beams danced through the branches. Of the forty acres he owned, half were cleared, but the other half remained a forest of pines and aspens that encircled the perimeter like a hug. A childish image, and no doubt a reflection on his less-than-comforting life, but it still came to mind each time he pulled onto his drive and passed through the thicket of trees standing sentry.

Beside him, Juliana leaned forward and gazed up at the canopy.

“Here,” he said, rolling the windows down. Juliana might not care, but he wanted her to experience the things he loved about his home. And the crisp evening air, heavy with the scents of the day—pine, drying hay, and the slight dank detritus—welcoming him, was one of them.

The familiar smells swirled through the windows, mixing with the scent of the pizza and creating an odd juxtaposition. Juliana inhaled, then stuck her arm out the window, smiling as the sleeve of her sweatshirt fluttered in the breeze.

They rounded a slight bend, and her gasp filled the cab. He smiled. She’d spotted his house. Surrounded by gardens that eventually gave way to fields, it sat in a small dip in the land, not big enough to be called a valley, but similar in feel.

“You have a tower!”

His smile grew wider. “I do. It’s attached to my room. I use it as an office/planning area now, but I’m thinking of turning it into a sitting room once the renovations are done.”

“Oh, and that porch. And the gingerbread detail…” She strained against her seat belt to get a better look.

“There’s another off the kitchen, but yeah, the front one is something,” he said, eyeing the details currently holding her attention. Intricately carved railings and decorative trim framed the wide porch that hugged the front of the home before curving around the south side. The woodwork was beautiful, harkening back to a time when craftsmanship thrived. Although he had to admit, it was a bitch to paint.

“The tower, though…” She craned her head again. “Those windows look new, which means they have to be double-paned. How on earth did you find curved double-paned windows?” The ones at the top were small and square, but the larger ones—two rows of three—followed the curve of the tower.

“It wasn’t easy, especially not as a retrofit rather than a new build, but there’s a place in Tennessee that makes them.” He followed the drive around the house, then turned into the garage. Originally, the space had been used to store farm equipment, but he’d managed to repurpose it without changing the exterior.

“How did you even find this place?” she asked as they climbed out of his truck.

“Online,” he answered, opening the back door and grabbing both her bag and the pizza while she reached for the salad.

“It was going up for auction. The timing wasn’t great for the sellers. There had been a few fires in the area, and no one wanted to buy.”

“Do you know what colors you’re going to paint it?”

The entire building was currently coated in a white protective primer. The detailed painting he had planned was the last thing on his list to do. “I have an idea. I’ll show you the samples after we eat.”

“And fires, do you worry about them?” She paused before stepping through the door. “Dumb question, we all worry about fires.”

He inclined his head as he led her through a hall, passing a mudroom, powder room, and storage pantry before entering his kitchen. “I installed both interior and exterior sprinkler systems. I also have solar-powered batteries in case the power gets cut, and an ag well with a good water source. Those were my biggest expenses, since I couldn’t do the work myself. I hope I never need them, but it helped with my insurance.”

“It’s a labor of love, isn’t it?” she said, turning in a slow circle and taking in the kitchen and butler’s pantry that led to the dining room. A pang of embarrassment shot through him as he watched her. The house was huge and formal and had things like a dining room and a sitting room, in addition to a living room and a parlor. Would she think he’d been attracted to those things? Attracted to the formality and obvious wealth of the original owners? Would she think him pretentious or grasping?

She set the salad down and, without a word, walked into the butler’s pantry. Pausing, she studied the built-ins that lined one wall. A delicately carved set of dark wood drawers and cabinets filled the lower half. Glass-front shelves framed with the same deep, rich wood occupied the top. He suspected the bottom had been used to store china and serving dishes and the top, perhaps to store more showy items, like silver.

She lifted a hand and ran her finger along the carvings. “When was the house built?”

“1876.”

She traced another carving. “Imagine the history this place has seen. The people who’ve dined here, the children raised here, the family members who may have died here. It’s a place of wonder.” She paused, then turned and looked at him, a rueful smile on her lips. “I often wish that ‘if these walls could talk’ was more than a saying. Although, admittedly, that would be creepy as hell.”

His earlier embarrassment drained away, and he smiled. She understood. It wasn’t the grandeur of the home that mattered, but the feelings it evoked. From the contrast between the stately size and the whimsical details, to the worn tread of the wide- planked floors, to the way it invited you in to explore, to ask questions, to be curious—about the past, the present, and even the future. It was an adventure enclosed behind walls. Some people might think him crazy for attributing so much to a house, but with a house like his, why wouldn’t he allow a little wonder into his life?

“I’ll put the pizza in the oven to reheat and we can start with the salad,” he suggested.

She nodded and rejoined him. “Plates?” she asked. He directed her to the cabinet, then pointed out where he kept the silverware and napkins as he slid the pizza into the oven. Less than five minutes later, they were seated at the table, tucking into their salad.

“Can I get a tour after we eat?” she asked before spearing a beet.

He nodded. “You can pick which room you want, too. There are two furnished guest rooms, one upstairs and one down.”

“You’re upstairs?” He nodded. “Will you think less of me if I want to be on the same floor as you?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s my preference, too.”

“Then that’s settled. What’s next?” she asked before carving off a piece of goat cheese and popping it into her mouth.

“In terms of…”

“Polinsky, Lowery, and Gregor. It was easy to get caught up in all the details today, but what’s the bigger picture?” She paused, then wrinkled her nose. “I guess my ‘one thing at a time’ mantra only selectively applies.”

He waved her concern off with his fork. “You have brain space now to think about the bigger picture. And information to fill in the blanks. It makes sense that you’re asking what’s next. I don’t have an answer, though. Ideally, I’d like for us to figure out how the three men are connected. Then maybe it’s as easy as turning everything over to the authorities. Or maybe to that reporter, Anna Palmer. Actually,” he said, his mind taking a new path, “we should add her to the list of people to investigate. Based on what you heard, it sounds like she’s asking questions about Lowery already, or at least looking into him. If she’s really digging up dirt, she might be someone to introduce ourselves to.”

“I’ll do that tonight,” Juliana said.

“You should try to sleep,” he countered. “Want a glass of wine—or something else—to help?” he asked, rising to pull the pizza from the oven.

“I’m not going to turn to alcohol to help me sleep, but I’ll turn to it because it’s delicious. Do you have any red wine?”

“I do, a tempranillo from northwest of here.”

“Perfect,” she called back.

An hour, two glasses of wine each, and three-quarters of a pizza later, he led Juliana on a tour of his house. Starting with the ground floor, he walked her through the dining room, living room, sitting room (which he’d tastefully turned into a media room), and parlor (which he considered the family room). Then grabbing her bag, he led her up the front stairwell—rather than the former servant’s staircase, which led from the kitchen up to the attic—where she admired the intricately carved wood as they climbed the steps.

“Your room,” he said, opening the door to the furnished guest room. None of the pieces were period-appropriate, but finding the right things would take time.

“There’s a closet and a bathroom through there,” he said, pointing to two doors on the far side of the room. Originally, there’d been five bedrooms and three large closets on the floor—closets that he guessed were used to hold the elaborate gowns of the women who’d lived there. Over the first year, he’d reconfigured the walls, staying as true as he could to the original design. Now there were four bedrooms, each with a smaller closet and an attached bathroom.

“There’s a shower in the bathroom, but no bathtub. If you want to take a bath, I have a big claw-foot.” The idea of her naked in his bathroom hung between them. His body stirred, and he turned away, walking from the frying pan into the fire.

“I’ll show you my room?—”

“And the tower?”

He smiled, although she couldn’t see. “And the tower. Then we can hit the hay. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but I’m thinking it could be a long one.” As he spoke, he swung the door to his room open and stepped through. Positioned along the southeast side of the house, he had beautiful views of the sunrise from his bed through a bank of large windows. On the far side from where they stood was a door to his walk-in closet and one to the bathroom. To their right, the door to the tower.

It didn’t surprise him when she skipped the bathroom and closet and went straight to the tower. He watched the sway of her jean-clad hips as she crossed the room. Intentionally, he hung back, wanting to give her a moment to absorb the space. He also liked the view.

Gently, she pushed the door open, then let her hand fall. For several seconds, she simply stood in the doorway. She’d loved everything else about his house, but the longer she said nothing, the more tension crept into his body.

“Juliana?” he finally managed to ask. He didn’t want to admit, not even to himself, to the nerves tightening his stomach as he waited for her response.

“This is rather alarming, Simon,” she said, almost in a whisper.

He frowned. “What is?” he asked, striding toward her.

“That,” she answered, waving in the direction of the room. He scanned the space. It looked just as he’d left it. It might not be the tidiest he’d ever had it—two sets of plans lay spread across the drafting table, several boxes of materials and samples sat on the floor, and a chair had fallen over under the weight of his tool belt—but it wasn’t alarming .

“It could use a clean?—”

“No, the bookshelves, Simon.”

He glanced up, scanning the bare wood shelves that followed the curve of the wall, breaking only for the windows. “What’s wrong with them?”

She spun. “They’re empty ! How am I supposed to learn anything about your character without looking at your bookshelf?”

His lips twitched. “I think you have a pretty good idea of my character. Or you’re starting to.”

Her brows dropped. “Yes, of course. But the nuances, Simon! They’re all in the books. Now there are no books and…I’m adrift. I don’t know what to do. How do you stand it? Being surrounded by absolutely gorgeous shelves and having nothing on them .” She pivoted back to face the room. “I really don’t know what to think about this. I don’t know if I can sleep in a room beside a man who has nothing on his bookshelves. Isn’t that, like, one of those red flags women always talk about? And if they don’t, they should.”

He ran a hand over his mouth, biting back his smile. Not that she could see him still staring at his empty bookshelves. He reached out and took hold of her hand. She looked at him over her shoulder.

“Come with me,” he said.

She eyed him with dramatic skepticism that he wasn’t entirely sure was feigned. Ten seconds passed before she nodded. Twining his fingers with hers, he led her back out to the hallway, then toward one of the unfurnished rooms. Without a word, he turned the knob, and the door swung open.

In the dim light of the hall, the outlines of stacked boxes appeared like haphazard building blocks. Reaching over, he found the switch and flipped it on. “Books,” he said with a flourish. “I need to refinish the shelves in the tower, so for now, my books are all in here.”

She stared, her eyes sweeping over the eight boxes. He didn’t have a ton, he wasn’t going to cram his shelves, but he had a healthy collection. He’d even read most of them, although a few he’d bought because he liked the handmade bindings.

“You have restored my faith,” she said on an exhale.

“In me or something else?” he teased.

She turned, her blue eyes bright. Then to his surprise, she flung herself into his arms. He immediately pulled her close as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For?” He honestly had no idea. It didn’t seem like she’d be thanking him for having his own book collection.

“For everything today. For dealing with the guy this morning, for not questioning me or accusing me of having an overactive imagination, for believing in me enough to bring in Philly and Monk, for having me here. And for having a room full of books. I’m going to reserve judgment on them until I see what you have, but the fact you have them will help me sleep better.”

He followed her logic until that last statement. How a few boxes of books could help her sleep better, he couldn’t figure, but he’d roll with it.

And in the meantime, he was going to enjoy her curves pressed against him, her arms around his neck, and her scent surrounding him.