Lee’s face softened at her hesitation. He stepped back to her, still holding her hand in his right. He lifted his left and ran his knuckles down her cheek.
“I’m just glad you’re here. And I want you to feel at home.”
She took a deep breath and nodded, stepping of her own accord through the doorway into his bedroom. The sight of it nearly knocked the wind out of her: mahogany, queen-size rice bed… floor-to-ceiling window treatments… authentic Georgian-oak dresser. His nightstand was a turn-of-the-century Larkin desk, its leaf extended and its surface home to a few books, his glasses, an alarm clock, and a small lamp. His bedding and curtains were both a steel gray, giving the room a decidedly masculine feel.
“What do you think?” he asked, watching her stare.
She was honest. “I’m intimidated.”
Lee laughed. “Why the hell would you be intimidated?”
Her reasons were too many to name. Even though she owned just as many great pieces — perhaps not as nice as his — she couldn’t help making comparisons. The room itself breathed sophistication and class. Her last boyfriend’s bed had been a mattress and box spring on the floor with a dresser from Wal-Mart.
“It’s just amazing,” she said finally.
“Well, I had help.”
Wren frowned. “What do you mean? A decorator?”
“Sort of. Marcelle is an interior designer.”
A wave of nausea swirled in Wren’s stomach. If this room was Marcelle’s creation, she definitely didn’t belong here.
“She picked all this for you?” she asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice.
Lee was quick to shake his head. “Oh, no. I bought all the furniture. Over about ten years, mind you. Marcelle helped me with the color scheme and the accents.”
Paint and fabric? That was all? Wren looked over the room again. She liked that it had taken him years to find all of the antiques. That she could relate to. “Ten years? How old are you?”
Lee laughed again. “Care to take a guess?”
His words and laughter had chased away some of her nerves. “Um… you’re a doctor, so I’m gonna say… thirty, maybe?”
His smile grew. “I’m thirty-one." He grabbed her by the hand again, and Victor followed at their heels. “C’mon. Let’s go see the rest.”
He showed her to a second bedroom across the hall toward the front of the house, and then they circled to his living room, which she had glimpsed the awful night of her pie humiliation. His furniture there was contemporary, but in a style that echoed a mid-century modern look with his three-seater sofa and matching chair. An antique hall tree stood by the front door, umbrellas tucked neatly under its arm.
From his living room, a Spanish arch led to the next space, which Wren assumed had been designed as a dining room, but instead of a dining table at its center, Lee had a ping-pong table. At the sight of this, she laughed because it was soLee,and she was surprised to see the blush on his cheeks.
“I got that last week. It was sort of an impulse purchase,” he confessed.
“Well, should we play?”
At her offer, his face lit up. “Yeah, but hang on.”
Then he turned, and Wren followed to find a genuine Wurlitzer against the wall behind her.
“Oh my fucking God!”
Lee swiveled to face her, eyes wide. “Is that good or bad?”
Wren pushed past him. It was a classic bubbler. She flicked her finger over the selection carousel, and noted that it held one hundred 45s, a total of two hundred songs. Some of the labels looked original, but Lee had replaced a few with hits as recent as the 1980s. Lee punched one of the selections, and, moments later, the room filled with Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me.”
“Holy shit, Lee! These go for six grand on eBay." She couldn’t disguise the awe in her voice. Wren turned to face him and found Lee grinning.
“I got it for four,” he said. “Some of the wiring was fried, so I had to make a few repairs.”
Her mouth fell open. “Still, that’s lot of money. I know doctors make tons of money, but you’re still in your residency.”