As Darcy followed him and looked down, her breath caught. There was so much space. It was a lot for the eye to take in. Her parents' home in Indianapolis was the most space she'd ever known; living in Manhattan, even with a great paying PR job, didn't exactly loan itself to this kind of spaciousness. It wasn't well-decorated or even all that attractive, but breath-taking in it's openness all the same.
Jack said he had one of them at home and for a moment, Darcy didn't really follow. She looked back up at him, a little confused and arching one of her well-manicured eyebrows at him in hopes of an elaboration of sorts. A moment later, she actually voiced the confusion.
"One of...?" she prodded. "The catwalk?" she asked to clarify her question. Because, really, if this guy had one of these at home and he meant the vast room, maybe he was more well off than the military garb would suggest, in which case, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to see if he would turn out to be her Alastair; the wealthy, gorgeous, refined, romantic, perfect man of her dreams that Dexter hadn't turned out to be.
The meeting place didn't really play into her fantasy at all, but fantasies could be altered to fit, sometimes, she thought. Plus, the new Darcy might not be as interested in the wealth as Old Darcy would have been, but she still liked the idea of it. Besides, New Darcy was going to be more open-minded and give people a chance. New Darcy was going to get to know people, even if they didn't immediately strike her as from her breed. Jack was the perfect reason to stretch New Darcy's legs, wasn't he? Well, he could be, anyway, couldn't he?