Miranda
pirouetted in the spacious, unfurnished living room, pale walls and
carpet. Her hair gathered at the base of her neck, a pretty, white
summer-dress like gossamer. Open-concept, steps leading up to the
kitchen and the corridor leading to the bedrooms. The north wall was
glass, overlooking the lush green crowd of conifers that sloped down
and away into the ravine. A New Modern villa, reminiscent of
Frank Lloyd Wright without being derivative.
"It's
gorgeous," Miranda says. Something about it felt fresh.
"You're
gorgeous," Genevieve replied from the landing near the front
door where she was inputting the new security codes through a small,
imbedded panel. Gen was in black jeans and a navy tank-top.
Miranda
smiled shyly, playfully. "You're a sweetheart, Gen. I'm not the
girl for you, though."
