Waking Up To Love (Lakeside Porches Book 4) (26 page)

“Also, Kyle,” Andrea said, “you’ll be glad to know, when they did the renovation, they completely rewired the house. I understand the little office in the front here was packed with cameras and video-editing equipment as well as a couple of computers.”

“Something to think about. Andrea, we’re very grateful for your time and expertise. Let’s adjourn for now. I know I’m hungry, and your children must be wondering where their mother is. Lyssa and I will debrief over dinner, and I’ll be back in touch.”

Andrea looked peeved, but she ushered them down the stairs. “Where are you having dinner?” she asked casually.

Without thinking, Kyle answered, “The Manse Grille. I’ve been wanting to try it.”

“Lucky Lyssa,” Andrea said under her breath.

Kyle slammed his car door after depositing Lyssa in the passenger seat. “Honestly, I wanted to fire her for that Lucky Lyssa cheek.”

“I could see the steam coming out of your ears. But remember, she’ll spread the word that we’ve progressed to dinner at a classy restaurant.”

“I know, but I hate all this trickery. I hate it, Lyssa. On a scale of one to ten, how angry are you?”

“I’m not as angry as I am hungry. Let’s enjoy our dinner. I don’t mind if you want a brandy, and I’m willing to drive us, if you want two.”

“I may, luv. What will help you relax?”

“Steak—thick, rare, and juicy.”

“Will this do?” Kyle whispered close to her ear.

Lyssa’s mouth curved and her eyes brightened as her gaze swept over the candlelit tables, spaced for private conversation. Each table was topped with French-blue linen cloth, shining silverware, and sparkling crystal. The wait staff, snappily attired in black trousers, black vests and crisp white shirts, and several styles of French-blue ties—neckties, floppy bows, bowties, cravats, ascots—bustled without being obtrusive.

“Elegant,” she told him. “Romantic.”

They followed the hostess to a table that looked out on the moonlit lake.

“Brilliant, yes.” He favored the hostess with a smile and held the chair for Lyssa.

“I smell steak, luv, and it’s making my mouth water. I’ve just changed my mind about what I’ll order.” He caressed her shoulder before settling in the chair next to her.

“One unpleasant detail.” Lyssa said.

“What’s that?”

She gave a cheery wave to someone who passed behind him. After a beat, she leaned closer to say, “The busboy is one of Rand’s students and, I think, one of his poets. He was in the café when you and I acted out our now-famous scene where you convinced me to be your house-hunting consultant.”

“So we can count on him to tell Rand that we’re now having elegant, romantic dinners together?”

“He just pulled out his cell phone, and he’s ducking out of sight.”

“He’d risk being fired to get the word to his hero. Rand
does
have his following. Tell me, is it time now to start our date?”

Lyssa placed her napkin on her lap. “Yes. It’s just us now, having dinner, talking, enjoying.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “In public.”

His hand found her knee, and two fingers walked up her thigh.

“Good evening, folks. What can I bring you to drink?” The cocktail waitress stood at Kyle’s shoulder, her face a mask of propriety.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll have a Courvoisier. My wife might enjoy an espresso drink. Lyssa?”

She stammered her answer. “Yes, a-a cappuccino, please. Decaf. With cinnamon sprinkles.”

When the waitress had left, Lyssa tapped Kyle’s hand. “Did you . . .”

“Did I what, sweetheart?”

“Realize you referred to me as your wife?”

“No.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Sorry, I’ve taken to thinking of you as such. Cheeky of me, isn’t it?”

Lyssa snatched her hand away. “Rand’s telling people he and I are getting married next June. You’re telling people I’m already married to you.”

“You’re angry about this, aren’t you?” He
had
asked her to be open about her feelings.

“Yes. Yes, I am. It’s not that I don’t like the direction of your thinking. But I want to plan the future
with
you, not be dragged along to your man cave. I do have a brain, you know. And a heart. And self-respect.”

“I apologize. Most humbly.”
Very serious error
. And they both needed food.

Before he could summon the waitstaff, a basket of bread appeared, along with chilled flowerets of butter and small dishes of herb-infused oil. Lyssa dove for the breadbasket, chose a pumpernickel roll, and buttered it liberally.

Their waiter approached the table, his eyes shifting back and forth between the two of them. Kyle gathered he’d been briefed that a spat was in progress at the table by the moonlit window.

“We’re ready to order,” Kyle said before the waiter could depart.

“Yes, sir.” He snapped to attention. “What can I bring you?”

“We’ll both have the filet mignon,” Lyssa said as though she always ordered for them. “Mine’s medium rare. Kyle, how do you like yours?”

“Medium, please.”

“Salad instead of potato. Bring that out ahead.”

“Very good, madam.” The waited hesitated a moment, stole a glance at Kyle, and took his leave.

“How did that feel?” She took another bite of her roll.

“I see your point, sweetheart.”

“Try one of the pumpernickel. They’re fantastic,” Lyssa said.

Kyle soaked up some of the oil with a chunk of sourdough bread. With his mouth full, he moaned his enjoyment and pointed to the remaining hunk of sourdough.

“I’ll try that next.”

He breathed easier when she smiled.

Their drinks arrived and he proposed a toast to a lovely evening. “Unless you’re still angry?” Kyle held her gaze.

“No, I’m good now.” She took a sip of her cappuccino and laughed when the foam tickled her nose.

“I’m in your sister’s debt for allowing us to have a proper date.”

She savored the last bite of her pumpernickel roll. “You were frustrated by Andrea tonight. Has that melted away?”

“Yes. I was chilled to the bone, too, but the brandy has warmed my toes.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“How are your toes doing?”

“All the time we were touring those cold houses, my toes were remembering the pink towel you brought out for me that first, dewy morning on your patio. And, of course, the sensuous foot massage that went with it. My toes are happy toes.”

Five of those toes skimmed the length of his sock to his calf.

“May I accompany you home tonight, Lyssa?”

“You may.” Her sapphire eyes danced, and his heart leapt with anticipation.

“Tell me something with brutal honesty.” Kyle covered her hand where it rested on the linen cloth. “At the Seneca Street house, why did you lose your sparkle just before we left the kitchen?”

“Do you mean, when I was imagining the rose garden whole and well again, and you were saying your concerns about the house?”

“Yes.”

Lyssa blinked away a few tears. “I was wishing we were really looking for a house together and that we could seriously consider that imperfect, impractical little place as a starter home.”

Don’t push
. “And by starter home you mean . . .”

“Sometimes a couple buys a smaller home as they’re starting their life together.”

“And why would they start small like that?”

“Their finances might dictate a less expensive home. Or their employment might require several relocations. Things like that.”

“I see.” He sat back as their dinners arrived.

The aroma of grilled beef rose to their nostrils.

“Anything else I can bring to the table?” their waiter asked, looking from Kyle to Lyssa and back again.

When Lyssa shook her head, Kyle told him, “We may want dessert after, but we’re good for now.”

The waiter withdrew with a bow.

“Dessert, Kyle? That’s out of character.”

“That tells you how hungry I am. Will you do something for me, sweetheart?”

She playfully held her hands over her dinner plate. “I’m
not
giving you my steak.”

He grinned and speared the first forkful of his own sizzling, juicy beef. “I’d like to hear from the Wise Woman Investor about the Seneca Street property. Pros and cons of the house as a place to live for a few years. Possible improvements. And, if you would, advice about the asking price.”

She chewed a bite of her filet. “Cons are obvious. The cellar is good for plenty of storage but nothing more. The garage is separate but new and large enough for two cars, including a modest-size SUV, but nothing bigger. The backyard, as it is, needs work, and I think the community will be watching what happens to the garden.”

“Would that deter you as a buyer?”

“Only if I had no desire to tackle the garden and remake it as something lovely that suited my taste.”

“It sounds as if you’d enjoy that project.” He finished his brandy and watched her face.

“Yes, I think I would.” A smile flitted across her face. She catalogued the pros and finished with, “I loved the master suite. Did you? And I don’t mean just the high-tech shower.” She popped another bite in her mouth.

They focused on their meal until Lyssa pushed away her plate. He did the same and asked her, “What did you love about the master suite?” His heart warmed as a blush appeared on her cheeks.

She shook her head and pointed to him. “You first.”

He laughed. “What did I love about the master suite? It’s large enough for any size bed. I like the east-facing windows that catch the sunrise and moonrise. Roomy closet and quite nice bathroom. What of the pale gray walls and white trim? Did you see that as monotonous?”

“Not to me. It unified the house and left plenty of room for adding personality.” Lyssa grinned. “Like the waiters here. Each is wearing black and white but with a different kind of blue tie.”

“Quite right.” He had slipped out of one loafer, and now he teased the inside of her calf with his stocking-clad foot. “And what of the price, Wise Woman Investor?”

Her eyes sparkled with reflected candlelight. “The listing noted that the home was reassessed about the time the construction wrapped up—the remodel of the kitchen and the new addition and patio. It’s been on the market nearly six months, and the asking price is high, relative to the assessed value. And, as we’ve said, it’s not the house for every buyer, so she—the woman who’s selling—is probably anxious. I’d offer twenty-to-twenty-five thousand
below
asking and see what comes back. What are you smiling about?”

Instead of answering, he signaled for the waiter.

“You’re really getting dessert?”

“Lemon sorbet for me,” he requested.

“And for madam?”

“The same,” she said.

“Coffee, tea, more brandy, sir?”

“Tea for both of us. Yes?” he asked Lyssa.

“Yes, please.”

The waiter cleared their plates and agreed to box the leftover beef and vegetables. When they were alone again, Lyssa ran her thumb over his knuckles. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner.”

“My pleasure.”

“Why did you really order dessert?”

“I wanted to draw it out a bit, to talk more about our home lives.”

She blinked and looked away. “You go first, Kyle. I know you went to private schools, but I know nothing about your childhood at Pennington House.”

He sandwiched her hand between his. “Mum and Dad married very late in life and I was a complete surprise. They were shocked and delighted. They added a nanny to the household, and we all had a grand time together, sometimes travelling up to London or back to Ireland, where Mum was born.

“Dad loved taking me on hikes around the property, showing me off to the tenants, reading with me. He taught me how to recognize all the wildlife and flora.”

“Ah, your mum is the Irish connection.”

“What do you mean?”

“I always wondered how Fiona and Padraig came from Ireland to your household.”

“I see, yes, that’s the connection. I was enrolled in a school for precocious children nearer London when I turned six. What would that be called here?”

“School for the gifted and talented, probably.”

“While it was academically and culturally stimulating, it was pretty miserable on the whole. I’d see my parents on holidays, or they’d visit for events. I cherished my time at Pennington House, and I pestered Dad to learn all I could about the land and the tenants and the surrounding community.

“Dad always wanted the land preserved from developers, and I want that, as well. You’ve seen that it’s a gem for hikers and nature lovers and ought not be swallowed up by vacation homes and souvenir shops.

“But, back to your question, it was a marvelous childhood at home, in contrast to the reality of schooling and bullying. Ironically, my way of dealing with bullies gave me the vision for my business.”

“You were resilient. Do you genuinely enjoy your business?”

He stretched out his legs. “Yes, but if I had to choose between continuing the business or seeing to the needs in Cornwall, I’d pick Cornwall. It’s that dear to me.”

“You and your dad were close. And I know you cherish your mum, too.”