He chuckled again, but this time, he sounded sort of anxious. Was it that important what I thought?
We walked through the grandiose double doors. Inside the house was a grand entry, all in muted colors, with a fresh bouquet of assorted flowers on a side stand. The floors were probably not real marble, but they looked like it. Toward the right, a grand staircase rose upwards into a second story like shades of Gone with the Wind.
Timothy, not saying a word, took my hand, and led me into a living room. He informed me that there were three of living rooms, one for formal social occasions, one for sitting back and smooching in front of a big screen, as he put it, and a third for business meetings. I saw all three: each living room had a fireplace and chairs that looked so comfortable that if you sat down, you’d never want to get up.
We continued the tour into the kitchen. Two employees stood there, giving a stiff nod with a smile in our direction. The one in a white chef’s uniform informed Timothy that a meal could be served whenever it was convenient for us. We were having roast beef, potatoes, and asparagus, with a butter lettuce salad. He added that there were also alternates: mushroom raviolis and butternut squash soup.
“We haven’t had breakfast yet,” Timothy said. “Could we hold lunch and get some scrambled eggs and pancakes?”
I gave Timothy a small smile for that, but I actually wasn’t sure I could eat. My stomach was already filled with a thousand butterflies, all complaining about the size of Timothy’s house.
I glanced about, noting the beautiful and obviously new appliances. Even the dishwasher was shiny, as if someone had just polished it. The countertops were marbled with a tasteful stone of light browns and creams. The cupboards were walnut-hued or real wood, possibly. The refrigerator, unlike mine in my smallish apartment, looked like it was capable of holding food sufficient for an entire soccer team, plus their coaches. And the size of the kitchen — oh my! School cafeterias weren’t that big.
Timothy, his hand now on my back, pushed me gently forward. “Ready to see the backyard?”
Of course, I nodded. When in WonderLand, what else is there to do but admire the scenery?
The walkway was stonework smoothed with a shiny finish that didn’t seem to be slippery. Plants everywhere were in full bloom. The gardener had arranged the pink fuchsia, slightly darker azaleas, and white hydrangeas perfectly in a stunning arrangement that looked professional. And then there was the pool, Olympic sized with a jacuzzi on one side.
“You like to swim?” I asked.
“Everyday. This is my gym,”
“I should have brought my suit,” I mused. “I love swimming, and your house is lovely, Timothy.”