I don’t know what I expected—I guess something along the lines of my brother’s place—but this certainly isn’t it. Rich wood floors set in a herringbone pattern lead from the foyer into the main living area, where a fireplace with a gorgeous carved wood mantel is the centerpiece of the room. The furniture, a mix of cabinets and the art on the wall—I’m surprised he even has any—is fairly eclectic as well. The vibe is comfortable, a little moody and cozy. Though some of the furniture pieces lean toward traditional, there’s nothing stuffy about the way it’s presented. It definitely feels like the kind of place you could kick up your feet and relax after a long day.

“This is really nice, Andrew. How long have you lived here?” I turn around to look at where he still stands in the entryway, watching me soak in his place.

“About three years. It needed a fair amount of work when I got it, so it was a project the first couple of years.”

“Job well done.”

“Thanks.” He walks over to me. “Can I take your coat?”

I pull off my mittens and my hat, then unwind my scarf, unbutton my coat and slip it off, and hand it all to him.

“I’m going to hang all this up and then turn on the kettle. Be right back. Make yourself at home.”

I smile and watch him put all my belongings in the closet in the foyer, then he disappears into a doorway just outside the living area. I do a sweep of the room, walking in a circle around all the furniture to check out the view out of the window. This late in the day, it’s a bunch of twinkling lights breaking up the darkness below.

The built-in bookcase surrounding the TV mounted to the wall is filled with thrillers, and it’s clear which are his favorites because the spines are cracked and worn as if he’s gone back to reread them a thousand times.

Andrew returns a few minutes later with a tray, and when he sets it on the coffee table, I grin. I walk over to take a seat on the couch.

“I wasn’t sure what you like, so when I went to the store earlier this week, I grabbed a bunch of different kinds. Let’s see, I’ve got regular hot chocolate, white hot chocolate, gingerbread hot chocolate, candy cane hot chocolate, truffle hot chocolate, and rainbow hot chocolate, whatever that is. Pick your poison.”

My cheeks hurt from smiling while inspecting the assortment of hot chocolate and marshmallows of different shapes and sizes, a can of whipped cream and some chocolate stir sticks. I feel incredibly special that he went to so much trouble.

“I’m going to go with the regular hot chocolate, please.”

“A traditionalist. I like it. I’ll do the same.”