In the artistically cluttered and continually working mind of Hunter Mercer, nothing could be more important than home and family, and was why he'd made the overseas trek in secrecy.

Hunter caught the turn sharply, his tires singing out as he veered onto Millbank a hair faster than the law would have allowed. Beneath his hands, the engine of his rental Mercedes purred like a contented kitten as he pulled up just shy of his family home's front door.

There it sat on the corner lot, the verdant grass blanketed in old snow and weathered sheets of ice. The grey brick and stucco and slanted face of slate framed windows haloed by sheaves of blackened ivy. Ivy, he remembered, that he and his father had planted that one summer, along with the trimmed bushes of roses and lilac, the stately evergreens and the timeless Red Maples.

Of all the places and breathtaking wonders he had had the fortune to see, nothing ever quite wrenched the breath from his lungs, or filled up his heart, more than this old century house, with its sloped roof and puffs of smoke billowing from the double stack chimneys.

Hauling his bags from the trunk, he trudged up the curved layered stone path, another project he and his father had seen to, he thought, during that summer he had decided to take on a job so he could save up enough for the following senior school year. He'd wanted a car, and not just any old junker, either, but something he could make sleek and sexy.

Come August, thanks to the landscaping jobs his father and crew roped him in on from May, he'd scraped together enough for a '74 Ford Mustang. She'd been a real eye-sore when he and his father had rolled her out of some dude's garage out in Whitby, but by September, with a few parts and a lot of late nights and elbow grease, father and son had her running smooth and mewling like a baby with just enough rattle to turn a few heads.

That sweet little ride had given him some great times, he smiled, setting his bags on the stoop so he could dig in his pockets for the house keys. And plenty of action. Wrestling them out, he slid it into the lock and swung open the door. He waited a moment and saw a streak of grey, brown and black bullet around the corner to leap into his arms.

Laughing, Hunter embraced the panting, vibrating near one hundred-pound ball of slobbering affection.

"Hey, Skittles." He crouched to his knees to pet and receive lavish affection in the form of slobbering licks. "Yeah, I miss ya too, buddy. Come on, inside." Wrestling with his bags and a mutt who just wasn't ready for him to move out of reach, Hunter strode inside, shut the door against the cold breath of February. Empty, just as he'd hoped, but glancing at the ornate gold wall clock, that wouldn't be true for long.

While Skittles ran impatient circles around his legs, Hunter scoped out the new layout. He knew his parents had done a lot of work in remodeling the interior of the home over the last two years. He'd heard all about it over long distance phone calls and saw photographs shared through email, and although it was different, the air of familiarity still resonated in the form of furnishings and knick-knacks he could pull from his childhood memories.

The foyer was wider, the doorways leading into the adjoining family lounge and dining room extended for architectural charm as well as allowing the eye to travel and flow straight through unencumbered while maintaining a sense of separation and division of space.

The walls were now a deep and smoky charcoal blue, a colour that should have felt heavy and oppressive, but as an artist, Hunter knew the light bursts of white, chrome and the few pops of colour scattered about lifted the space up and made it warm, cozy and inviting. He brushed a hand over the back of the steel grey couch, flecked with bits of blue and copper, where Skittles leapt up, planting his paws in hopes for attention.

Obliging, Hunter gave his thick scruff of fur on his neck a heavy-handed rub.

"Look at this place, eh?" Moving his bags from the front door to the lounge by the coffee table, Hunter toed off his boots, set them by the shoes along the foyer wall near the closet and swung to the back kitchen in search of food. He dragged his eyes, in surprise and approval, over the enhanced space of soft white cabinets and powder grey counters, they'd blown out a wall and merged the kitchen with the family sitting area.

This was where his family congregated the most, he thought, by the wide windows looking out into the deep stretch of yard backing on to the Cedarvale ravine. Where there had once been a lopsided, scarred table, was now a plush, curved banquette, and barstool seating along the side of a long island wrapped in palest silver on glistening white.

This was the sort of kitchen he knew his mother had toiled hard for and dreamt of often, and it warmed his heart to see in the comfort of her retirement she'd finally got it. From the impressive gas range, to the large double door fridge and fixtures of crystal and steel, but softened with touches of printed fabrics and rich wood. He turned to the wall by the doorway, where a blackboard hung boasting meal plans and a list of grocery items to be picked up for the week in pastel chalk and beneath it stood a ceramic figurine on the side table near a pale blue vase filled with vibrant freesia.

Hunter traced a finger over the angel wing and smiled. He'd made this for his mom in his art class when he was eight. She'd wept, he recalled, her big and adoring green eyes flooded with tears and laughter. Even though the thing was ugly as sin, the face all warped and the shape ill-formed, a far cry from the sort of magic his hands were capable of now, she'd kept it in a place of pride and honour, not tucked away on a shelf in a closet, or upstairs in a dim corner of a room.

But here, in a place of warmth and welcome, for all to see. 

Always the first to know and sense when someone was close at hand, Skittles pricked his ears, then tossed back his head for a barking howl of joy.

Over the riotous noise, Hunter caught the snarl of an engine pulling down into the drive, the bright sound of a woman's voice as she stepped out, wrenching the car door shut hard enough to make a man wince, then smile. He straightened as Skittles leapt up and streaked away, a mangy bullet of grey, muted brown and patches of black.

In no particular rush to hurry the moment of reunion, Hunter followed in his wake at a more leisurely stride to the side door where Darcy, cell phone wedged between shoulder and cheek, bent at the waist to receive Skittles' adoring and lavish kisses.

Her hair was down and windblown, caught somewhere between her natural curly and her long suffering wish for straight, arms laden with purse and reams of bold, daring fabrics.

"Jesus," she laughed when Skittles leapt up to continue his assault, keeping him back with a nudge of her knee. "Can't I get in the door before you're fit to drool and shed all over me?—sorry, Trish, we'll need to wrap this up later. Okay, sounds good."

Whimpering pitifully as Darcy scooted away from the door to boot it shut, he scampered at her feet, pawing at her legs as she strode across to the family lounge. Tongue in cheek, hands thrust in pockets, Hunter followed after her and smothered a laugh when she heaved her reams and bolts over to the couch and caught sight of his bags heaped by the table.

Her back shot straight as a bow, Darcy spun and gasped. Her large and brilliantly green eyes, the same matching hue as their mother, widened and glazed with shock and pleasure all at once.

"Oh my God!" For once in her life, heedless of her coveted Birkin she'd received in honour of her twenty-eighth birthday last month from Tristan, Darcy tossed it to the floor. And ran.

Hunter caught her on the leap and swung her around for a bracing hug. Even when her feet were still on the ground, even with the six inches in height disparity between them, both brother and sister refused to let go. She smelled of the perfume he'd sent back for her last Christmas tangled with hints of fresh winter breeze and home. Savouring the familiar scents, Hunter buried his face in her hair.

"You're here." Her voice was thick and strained with emotion as well as laughter. Pulling back an inch, she beamed up at him, and dashed away the stray tears that had escaped despite her determination not to spoil the moment with foolish, female weeping. "My big baby brother is home."

At that, Hunter slanted a playful scowl. "I always hated when you called me that. Makes me sound like I'm the younger of the brood when you are and always will be the baby."

"Well, of my two brothers, you're the youngest." She smirked, pinching his cheek, then moved back to swat at Skittles who leapt and yipped, determined to shove his muzzle between them and join in the merriment. "I can't believe you've actually here."

Hunter spread his hands wide. "Surprise."

"Oh, mom is going to be so happy." And dammit more tears wanted to come. "Just in time to celebrate the big Six-Oh."

"I've missed two too many. Couldn't let a third go by."

"Smart man." Darcy drilled a finger into his shoulder. "Or else I would have had to jump on a plane just to kick your scrawny little butt."

Amused, Hunter cocked a brow. "That so?"

"Hm. In fact, Mr." She jabbed his shoulder again, this time a little harder. "I should still kick your scrawny little butt. Three years away from home is inexcusable. In fact, I don't think I like you very much."

"I did fly our family out to Tuscany last year," he reminded. "All expenses paid for two weeks of scenic country and fantastic wine. If memory serves you even took a weekend in Rome for a shopping trip—which I also paid for."

"Semantics." Arms crossed, she cast him a haughty glare that almost made him laugh. Always the one to layer on the guilt, Darcy was heaping it on thick, not that Hunter had expected any less and knew his sister well enough, to ensure he'd come prepared.

"I guess that means you're not interested in getting your present."

Darcy's head snapped up with a wolf scenting blood. "Present?"

Hunter shrugged, revealing a small, square parcel from his back pocket, wrapped in silver paper with a blue ribbon. He watched as those killer eyes of hers shifted to the package, sharpened with lust.

"Give it here." When she sailed towards him, Hunter danced just out of reach. Her brows arched fiercely together, the sharp green of her eyes dark and fixed, the glare enough to scare any living man. A look she'd inherited, though their mother had the edge as when coupled with the 'tone', she could be lethal.

Darcy's expression was softened by a smirk that flirted across her lips, working her strategy over in her head. "We can go about this one of two ways," she warned, feinting left but squaring off with his right. "Hand over the goods like a gentlemen, or I'll grab you by your balls—and don't think I can't—and persuade you." She cracked her knuckles and wiggled her fingers as though preparing to seize his royal gems.

"Fine." Lips quirking, Hunter held out the small box, and watched as she seized it from him with the lightening reflexes of a cat snatching a mouse.

It didn't take her long to remove the ribbon, or the wrapping, but he had the pleasure of seeing her brows wing up, her mouth fall open and her eyes fill with surprised tears.

Nestled inside was a pair of dazzling radiant cut diamond earrings he'd seen gracing the window of a boutique in Milan and had known, the moment his eyes fell on them, that they were meant for Darcy and Darcy alone.

"Oh, you wonderful bastard," she laughed, voice thickening with emotion as she leapt to ensnare him in a breath-stealing hug. "They're prefect. They're beautiful. Oh!" Pulling away from him, she ran to the window, slanted them into the light and watched as the three-carat nearly flawless stones came alive in her hands.

Leave it to Hunter, she thought, dashing away a stray tear, to do something so generously selfless and thoughtful.

She'd always been a looker, he thought, the sort of natural beauty turned heads, stole hearts and fired loins. More than once in his youth he had to fight one of his friends, out of pure brotherly duty, for stealing long, lustful glances in her direction. And now that she struck the heart of womanhood, she was more than beautiful, but radiant. And it made his heart swell with pride to see her so fulfilled and happy.

Hands thrust in pockets, Hunter leaned against the jamb. "Man, you don't change."

"Perfection requires no improvements or upgrades." She beamed, tousling her dark length of tumbling hair over her shoulders. "Alright," she sighed, stroking a finger over the diamonds, "I guess you're forgiven."

The pair of them laughed just as the front door burst open to the sound of a woman's voice and a dog's gleeful bark.

"Speaking of," Darcy beamed, diamonds pinned to her ears. Linking her hand with his, she tugged him towards the hall. "I can't wait to see her face."