“Well, here we are,” Brian said, flicking on the lights. “Home, sweet home.”
“You didn’t live together?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I just wanted to see his face when he tried to explain why they weren’t living together.
“Nope,” Brian said easily, ignoring the implied question. “Take all the time you need.” He gestured us into the apartment, and I blinked as I looked around. It was nothing like I had imagined. Lydia was ribald, but anal, wild, but uptight. This apartment, however, seemed more appropriate for a girly-girl with its pastel-colored walls and lacy curtains. Everything was overtly feminine with the doilies on the coffee table and crocheted afghans tossed on the couch. The guys looked decidedly out of place in this dollhouse, and even I most emphatically did not fit in with the décor.
“My God,” Rafe said, looking awed.
“Lydia had a delicate side she didn’t show many people,” Brian explained, looking at the cotton candy mess seemingly with affection. “I’ll show you to her bedroom.” We followed him into a room with the walls a pale lavender and with a canopy bed smack dab in the middle of it. I felt like Laura Ashley walking into that room. There was even a doll with a china head and a frilly dress sitting upon the vanity table. Yes, she had a vanity table. There was a music box almost identical to the one back at her mother’s house sitting on the vanity table as well, right next to the doll.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Brian said, stepping out of the room.