Page 13 of Adrian

He shuts the dishwasher and turns it on. “I don’t mind it. Our mother believed that boys should learn to do everything around the house. Granted, that might have been caused by the fact that she had six sons and no daughters.” He chuckles.

I smile. “That could do it. Smart woman, though. Where is she? And your dad?”

Adrian’s face falls. “Long story.” He nods toward the living room. “There’s a fire going. If you sit by it, you’ll continue to thaw out. Do you want something to drink?”

I had water with dinner. I wonder what he’s referring to.

“Wine? I have a nice Merlot.”

I smile again. “That sounds perfect.” Maybe it will ease my nerves because Lord knows I could use calming.

“Sit, princess.” He points toward the loveseat in front of the fire.

I shuffle that way and crawl into the corner, pulling his sweatshirt down over my knees. There’s a soft blanket resting over the back of the sofa, and I pull it down to cover my bottom half. It’s weird that I’m roaming around this stranger’s house wearing absolutely nothing but his own sweatshirt.

Granted, he’s not really a stranger anymore. I know him better than most men I’ve dated for several weeks. I like him more than any of them, too. Interesting.

Adrian hands me a glass of red wine before sitting next to me on the other cushion. He bends his knee and angles his body so he’s facing me. Only a few inches separate us.

I take a sip of the wine and purr. “Oh wow. That’s delicious.”

“Thank goodness. I was worried. I figured you might know your wines. I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t think it would meet your standards.” He’s teasing. But also, he’s not. He has a way of pointing out my wealth without being condescending. After all, he’s probably richer than I am, so it would be ridiculous to pretend otherwise.

“I don’t have wine standards, per se,” I counter. “But I do enjoy a good red.”

He swirls it around and takes another sip. He’s not a stranger to wine. “It’s been a while since I’ve opened a bottle. I don’t usually sit around drinking by myself.”

I pull my knees under me. I’m warm now that I’m by the fire. Finally fully thawed. “You were going to tell me about your parents,” I nudge.

“They died in a fire over a decade ago. Here on this property. The house burned down one night.”

I wince. “I heard about that fire.”

“By coincidence? Or you looked it up?”

“I was actually doing an internet search about crime in this area after the realtor assured me it was low. She told me herself about the big events from the past two decades. One of them was the fire.”

“Ah. I’m glad you did your homework. What other crimes did she mention?”

“It wasn’t all criminal offenses, just major events. Was your parents’ death a crime?”

“Yes. It was arson.”

I gasp. “Holy fuck.”

He chuckles, probably at my use of profanity.

“That’s awful. Did they catch the guy?”

“Well…what other events did you learn about?”

“Some guy killed himself with his own ammunition.”

“That was my parents’ killer.”

My breath hitches. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. After my parents’ death, my brothers and I left this mountain for a number of years. We were still working for the family business, which we took over after our parents died. A few years ago, we decided to move back and reclaim our land. We rebuilt the main house and six surrounding cabins. One for each of us.”