Connor
We were still in the foyer of Ashford House.
Alistair had just finished pointing out the coffered ceiling like we hadn't already spent 5 minutes staring at it.
The living room hit us first. Double height, balcony, that massive chandelier, the cream sofas and the light pouring in from the garden. Edward and I did the whole "wow" thing again.
"Right," Alistair said. "If you follow me."
We followed him through the archway and into: The kitchen.
And I stopped. Again.
Pale sage cabinets lined the walls, glass-fronted with stacks of white dishes already set out like someone expected us. A massive dark wood farmhouse table sat in the middle with ladder-back chairs. Above it hung a rack with copper pots and pans and wicker baskets, and three bronze industrial lights.
Along the back wall was a stone fireplace with even more copper hanging underneath. Herbs in pots on the counter. A big bowl of lemons. A cake stand with a round of cheese.
