Relentless Pursuit by Kathy Ivan

over fifty years, buying it shortly after they'd married.  His mother and her sister had been raised in that house, only leaving when she'd married his father.  He and Max had practically lived there as well, spending nearly as much time there as they had at their own place.  This place was home to him.  When his grandfather died a few years back, he'd moved in with his maman , intent on taking care of her.  Instead, the feisty woman took better care of him than he'd ever done for her.  And he let her because he knew taking care of him gave her a purpose, something to fill the lonely days and nights since his grandfather passed.
    “This is my maman's house.   My grandmother.  I live here with her.”
    Jennifer looked over at him, then started toward the front porch.  Both sides of the sprawling, whitewashed wooden porch were covered with lattice, and along each wooden frame cascades of honeysuckle blossomed, its fragrance perfuming the night air.  The scent always reminded Remy of his grandmother and of home.
    “I love it,” she smiled and climbed the three steps onto the porch, “it's filled with charming character and shows it's been well-loved.”
    “Yes, it has.”  Jennifer's perceptiveness surprised him.  Most people saw an eighty-plus year old house, and thought it run down and out of step with all the newer, more modern homes. But Jennifer saw deeper, noticing the telltale differences that made it more than the sum of its parts.  It wasn't a house.  In every sense of the word, it was a home.  Maybe he'd underestimated her.  She seemed to have surprising depths that in another place and time he'd love to delve deeper.  Go beyond the superficial, and get to know the real woman.  Maybe after everything was resolved and Dubshenko was behind bars, he'd get the chance to see what made this beautiful curvy woman tick.  
    “Come on, let's grab the stuff I need and hightail it out of here before Dubshenko finds us.”  Remy ushered her through the front door. He flipped on the wall switch and the room filled with light.  Jennifer's indrawn breath had him focused on her.  “What?”
    “It's beautiful.”  She walked over to the sofa, running her fingers along the crocheted throw draped across the back.  Made of thin cording, the delicate stitches wove lacy patterns of pinks and rose tones against the tan backdrop of the couch fabric.  “This took a tremendous amount of work.  Did your grandmother make it?”
    “Yeah, she did.  Most of the girly stuff in here is her handiwork.  She's been doing stuff like that for as long as I can remember.”  Remy bit back a chuckle, but Jennifer caught it and raised her brow in silent question.
    “When my mom was pregnant with my brother, Max, maman started embroidering all kinds of fancy sh—stuff to start a hope chest for the baby.  When he turned out to be a boy she said it didn't matter, men needed hope chests too, so she kept at it.  Tablecloths, napkins, pillow cases and sheets.  All the things a daughter would need, she made for him.  She presented it to him when he got engaged to Theresa.”
    “I think that's really sweet,” She paused before giving him a cheeky grin, “so, do you have a hope chest, too, detective?”
    Remy couldn't stop the heat flooding into his cheeks, and knew his face was red.  He never blushed, but there was no denying this.
    “Yep, I've got one too.  Though she says she’s still working on it.  I don't get anything until I'm engaged.”
    “Well, whoever the lucky woman is, I'm sure she'll appreciate it.  This is beautiful workmanship.   She must love you very much to want to make sure you and your future bride start your lives out with love and care from your family.”
    “I know.  I'm a very lucky man to have maman in my life.”
    “Yes.  That kind of love is special.  Cherish it.  Not everybody is that fortunate in their family.”
    Hmm.  He knew about her brother, she cared deeply for him.