Free Love Redesigned by Sloane B. Collins

can’t wait to see the rest of the house.”
    The rain still streamed from the sky, so they hurried through the downpour to the front stoop. He unlocked the door and led her inside.
    “I’ll get you a towel,” he said, and led her to the small powder room by the kitchen. She went in and closed the door. He hurried to his own bathroom and picked up a towel and clothes for her.
    He knocked on the guest bathroom door. “If you want to wear these, I’ll put your clothes in the dryer.”
    She opened the door and he handed her the dry clothes and bath towel.
    He toweled his hair dry, then changed into jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. He forced himself to walk to the kitchen, and tried not to imagine her taking her clothes off just down the hall.
    A short time later, she joined him in the kitchen, carrying her damp shirt and jeans. He glanced at her and a slow smile spread across his face. Even as tall as she was, his sweat pants and thermal shirt still engulfed her. She had rolled the sleeves up past her wrists so her hands peeked through. She handed him her wet clothes and he walked into the laundry room, put them in the dryer.
    “Here are some socks if your feet are cold.”
    She sat down and slipped them on, sighing. “Much better. Thank you.” She looked around the room, and for some reason it was important to know what she thought of the kitchen.
    He had incorporated modern appliances into the old room, keeping the original stone walls intact. He’d added glass fronts to the sage green cabinets. A search through the old barn had unearthed a large wooden table for dining, and he’d sanded and polished it until it gleamed.
    He could see her here, baking, trying new recipes.
    His heart soared. Could we have a life together?
    She looked around at everything, finally turning to him. “It’s the perfect kitchen. The floor to ceiling windows make it feel as if the kitchen is part of the garden. I love it. Lots of room for cooking and entertaining.”
    She looked lost, and a little alone. He could only imagine what she was thinking.
    He opened a cabinet and pulled two glasses off the shelf. “Would you like a glass of wine? It’s from Francois’ vineyards.”
    “Are you allowed to drink anything else?” She grinned.
    His mouth kicked up in a half smile. “Let’s go into the other room. I started a fire, so it should be warm now.” He opened a bottle, and while it breathed, he put together a small platter of bread and cheese. He put it all on a tray and led her to the living room.
    “Very cozy. I like your house,” she said. She stood in front of the fireplace and held her hands out to warm them.
    “It’s becoming home.”
    “Isn’t it kind of big for you, though?”
    He hesitated. “I wanted to find a place large enough for my family.”

Chapter 9
    The flames crackled and popped, but she couldn’t feel the heat, couldn’t move. “Are—” her voice cracked, and she cleared it. “Are you engaged?”
    “No,” he said.
    He turned her around, and guided her to the couch. “What’s wrong? You are so pale.” He brushed the hair out of her eyes, turned her chin up. His eyes searched hers.
    She nodded. “I—I think I’m just cold and tired. It was a late night last night.”
    He poured them each a glass of wine, handed one to her.
    Where to begin? So many unanswered questions. So much pain over the years.
    “When were you divorced?” he asked, his voice low.
    Her face grew hot. “I was never married.”
    “What? But isn’t that why you left Paris when you did?” He frowned. Deep lines etched a furrow between his eyes.
    “No. I don’t know why you thought I was married. You surprised me yesterday when you called Daniel my husband. I didn’t know what to say. He’s my best friend. He and Connie Sue are friends also, so she invited him to the wedding. Besides that, he’s gay.”
    “When I came back from Milan, Patrice told me you left a letter for me, and she read it. Said you’d had a