Tyson is looking at me. Intently.
I know what he’s thinking. That this is perfect for me.
She shows us a massive dining room with a dining suite that seats eighteen. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a formal dining suite this large. Through the library is a sitting room that leads to an office and library combination filled to the brim with old books.
The basement is the most alpha man-cave space I’ve ever seen complete with billiards tables and a bar that’s big enough for a restaurant.
Upstairs are six bedrooms, including the master suite, which is not only a beautiful space with a massive spa-like bathroom, but this place is clearly a family-oriented home. The master has an attached nursery.
The whole place probably hasn’t had a thing changed in thirty years other than that kitchen. Everything is classic rich antiques with neutral colors and warm tones, and the place is clean and tidy. Not a speck of dust. It’s as if it has been preserved or has been recently cleaned to perfection in anticipation of Ty’s arrival.
We’re standing in the nursery and Tyson’s got his eyes on a rocking chair.
Cat caresses the chair and there’s a weighty silence.
“Your cradle is in the attic,” she says softly. “I couldn’t look at it day after day.”
“He died in this room, didn’t he?” Tyson says.
Cat’s back goes straight. “He did. You feel it?”
“I do,” Tyson says.
I do, too, oddly. But I say nothing.
I watch Ty wrap his arm around her and kiss the top of her head.
The silence in the room is loaded with pain. I want to give them privacy, so my eyes move to Bailey at the same time as her gaze moves to me. We’re of the same mind.
“Come see.” She grabs my hand and we leave Ty and his mother alone.
She shows me that attached to two other large bedrooms is what I’d imagine as an intended playroom. It’s lined with bookshelves. They’re empty. There are small rocking chairs big enough for children on either side. There’s also a big toy chest, though it’s also empty.
“Tyson loves books,” I whisper, feeling a chill run up my back.
“He should’ve read them here,” she says softly. “With brothers and sisters that he never got to have. So sad. But it doesn’t have to keep being sad. You and Tyson could fill this place with kids. Fill this room with toys and books. Cat can sit in that rocker in the nursery and hold a grandchild in each arm and build new memories instead of feeling sad about the things that were taken from her.”
I swallow down a lump.
Tyson and his mother come in then and they both have expressions that tell me they had words about the past.
I wrap my arm around his waist and snuggle in. I get a kiss dropped on my head and a squeeze from him.
“Well, it’s yours if you want it,” Cat says, her eyes bright with moisture. “No rush. You just tell me when you’re ready. And it won’t bother me a bit if you redecorate. If you want the furnishings, they’re yours. If you don’t, there are a few things I’d like and a few things I know my sister and Riley or his siblings might like.”
Tyson says nothing but his eyes are on me.
I smile, noncommittally.
“Are we going back to the party?” I ask.
“What do you want to do?” he replies, fingertips caressing my face along the hairline.
“It could be fun to go back for a bit. Have a dance or two.”
He smiles. “Okay, baby.”
I smile.
“I had the bedsheets changed and put some basics in the fridge for a breakfast for the morning,” Cat says. “But if we can eat here with your grandparents, I’ll bring more food over and cook for everyone. There are extra toothbrushes and other toiletries in the cabinets in the master bathroom, too. ”
“That’s very thoughtful,” I say.
“Sounds good,” Tyson says softly. “You can make more of that coffee cake?”
“I absolutely can.”
“He ate three quarters of it!” I tell her. “It was delicious.”
“I’m happy to make one whenever you like,” Cat says, beaming with joy. “Bailey? Let’s meet them in the car in case they want to look at anything else alone.”
“Right,” Bailey says.
They slip out.
Tyson puts his other arm around me and pulls me to his chest.
“This would’ve been where you read your books. Maybe with some brothers and sisters,” I say and then I burst into tears and bury my face in his shirt.
His arms come around me tight. “Don’t cry, my Ivy.” His voice has softness in it.
I look up at him.
“If your uncle wasn’t dead, I’d maybe kill him myself.”
He smiles and puts his lips to my forehead. “You’d probably have to get in line.”
“All the stuff that you were robbed of. These people are awesome, Ty.”