He glanced around at the heavy wood paneling and the rust brown shag carpeting. "Now that you mention it."
"My father hasn't changed anything since my mother and I left," she said, breaking away from Tony's embrace. She carefully set the flowers on the entrance table before hanging his coat in the closet.
"What's that," he asked, pointing to the thick wool rug in front of the fireplace.
"The rug?"
"It's a rug? I thought it was some kind of animal," he joked.
"My high school boyfriends used to call it the make-out rug."
"Were they speaking from experience or are these the same guys you were meeting in the bathroom?" Tony eyes seemed to brighten as he watched the corners of Kim's lip turn up in a smile.
"These would be the bathroom guys," she said.
He grinned as he turned back toward the portrait over the mantle. "Is that you?"
Kim shut the closet door and picked up the bouquet. "Me when I was five. And my mother and father."
Tony stepped down into the living room and walked in front of the portrait for a better look. "Your mother was beautiful."
"Yes. Yes, she was."
"And look at you," he said, admiring the portrait. "You've always been beautiful, haven't you?"
Kim rolled her eyes. "Thanks."
"You are, you know."
For some reason, Kim always responded to flattery as though she was still an adolescent. And this time was no different. "Are you hungry?" she asked, changing the subject,
"Is that dinner I smell?" he responded, surprised and pleased.
Kim nodded. "Since you were running late, I thought we'd just eat here. I hope you don't mind."
"Mind? I love it! So you can cook, too," he said teasingly.
"As a matter of fact," she replied, "we're having my specialty," she said, heading to the kitchen to find a vase for her flowers.
After they had eaten and put the dishes in the dishwasher, Kim gave Tony a tour of the downstairs.
"You have a pool back there?"
Kim nodded. "My father does. Yes."
"You should take the cover off. It would make a great rink."
"Oh, sure," she said and laughed, certain that he was joking. "Right"
"No, I'm serious."
"I'll mention it to my dad. I'm sure he'll get right on it. I can just envision him doing a few pirouettes in the middle there."
Tony laughed. "Your father needs to start exercising. He's thin, but he's in terrible condition."
"So tell him."
"Harkavey's already told him," he said. "Your father can be very stubborn--a trait he's passed on to someone else I know." He smiled. Holding on to his glass of wine, he stepped into the den and pointed to a canvas that sat on the easel "Is that yours?" She nodded.
"Can I take a look?"
"Sure," she said. "It's almost finished." She turned on the light and nodded toward the painting. "It's a Christmas present. For my father."
He moved closer to the painting, visibly affected by the stunning impact of colors and shapes. A rich deep purple now twisted around the strong red lines. Clouds of a light, ethereal yellow lifted out of the dark green background. "It's wonderrul"
Kim glanced at him, trying to determine the truthfulness of his reaction. He seemed to be sincere. "I was having a lot of trouble with this. When I decided to paint it for my father, it all came together."
"How so?"
"Purple represents my father. It's a strong, stubborn color, a lot like him. The red is a signal of love, the yellow... hope."
"And the green?"
"A good background color." She smiled. "I hope he likes it"
Tony nodded as he swirled his glass of wine. "You know, Kim," he said, hesitating. "I spoke with Harkavey today, and your father should be getting out of the hospital in a couple of weeks. I was just wondering... do you think you'll be staying in Ann Arbor when he gets out?"
She shook her head as she glanced back at the painting. "I don't know. I wasn't planning on it. But it depends on how my father is doing."
He took a step toward her and set down his glass. "Your father is going to be just fine. I was still hoping that you might stay, though," he said.
She sighed as she brought the conversation back to her father. "How do you know for certain hell be fine? How does anyone know?"
"Trust me," he said quietly, tracing the outline of her lips with his index finger.
She smiled as his lips drifted toward hers. "Sounds like you've said that before."
He took her hand and led her back into the living room. He sat down on the couch facing the fire and pulled her on top of him, so that she was straddling his lap. "I know you think you know all about me, but you may not be as perceptive as you think you are."
"I find that hard to believe," she said, her eyes twinkling playfully.
He took her in his arms and kissed her so deeply she heard herself sigh with desire. "If you just give me a chance," he whispered while she attempted to catch her breath, "you might find out that we're more suited for each other than you think."
"I should tell you now that doctors aren't my type," she said, as his lips wandered to her neck.
"Even ones that can fix broken hearts?" he asked, his hand slipping inside her shirt. His fingers swept over her chest, lightly massaging the area over her heart.
"Even ones that talk like they write for Hallmark," she murmured, closing her eyes as he skillfully unsnapped her bra.