Her eyes widened as she slipped her hand free and leaned forward. Mom had already broken out some of the Christmas decorations. Large green wreaths hung on the front door and on the windows on the second and third floor.

I parked next to the garage and faced Shortcake, smiling slightly. “You ready?”

A brief flash of panic across her face caused me to fear that she’d take off for the woods, but then she nodded and stepped out. When she reached back to grab her bag, I took it.

“I can carry it,” she said.

I glanced down at the bag I’d slung over my shoulder. “I’ll carry it. Besides I think the pink-and-blue flower print looks amazing on me.”

She laughed nervously. “It’s very flattering on you.”

“Thought so.” I waited for Shortcake to make her way over to me and then walked up the slate pathway. We headed under the covered patio, passing the wicker furniture that Dad hadn’t stowed away yet. One look at Avery, and I winced. “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

“That bad?”

“Close.” Moving closer to her, I tucked a lonely strand of her hair back as I bent down, catching her stare. “You have no reason to be nervous, okay? I promise.”

Her gaze flickered from my eyes to my mouth. “Okay.”

The urge to capture her mouth and taste the sweetness that was unique to her was hard to resist, but I did. Turning, I opened the door and was met with the scent of apple. My stomach grumbled. That better be pie I was smelling.

I led a wide-eyed Avery between the pool tables and the air-hockey table to the stairs. Her gaze darted everywhere, not missing a single thing. I found myself hoping that she liked what she saw, which was weird, because none of this was mine.

“This is the man cave,” I told her, guiding her to the stairs. “Dad spends a lot of time down here. There’s the poker table he kicked my ass on.”

A small smile pulled at her lips. “I like it down here.”

“So do I.” I hesitated at the bottom of the steps. “Mom and Dad are probably upstairs. . . .”

She nodded as she pulled away, silently following me up the stairs and through the living room. Magazines were scattered across the coffee table. Meaning that Teresa had had friends over at some point.

“Living room,” I said, going through an archway. “And this is the second living room or some room that no one sits in. Maybe it’s a sitting room? Who knows? And this is the formal dining room that we never use but have—”

“We do too use the dining room!” shouted Mom. “Maybe once or twice a year, when we have company.”

“And break the ‘good dishes’ out,” I said, glancing down at Avery.