“I don’t want anyone knowing we’re here,” he said when Ian stepped out of the car. “Come on.”
The door between the garage and the house was unlocked. Gabe led them through to the kitchen, which was, in a word, garish. Searing red poppies and electric yellow coneflowers decorated everything: painted on the walls, painted on the cabinets, painted on the oven backsplash. The curtains over the window were a pattern of poppies on a yellow background. Ian gaped. The needlepoints suddenly seemed mild in comparison.
“You should’ve seen the place before we hauled everything out. She had bright red and yellow everything—plates, mugs, cooking utensils, napkins, pots and pans…” Gabe led them through to the dining room, the walls painted that intense poppy red. “My family hated this color choice.”
“
