Chapter 18
18
When I walk out of Hobby Airport I’m greeted by thick, heavy humidity, but it doesn’t remind me of hell this time. Instead, I think of warm summer breezes, the scent of salt in the air, vast expanses of water stretching as far as the eye can see. I think of a building with a porch, a firepit in the front yard, and a dock reaching out into the bay. A home away from home for travelers. An escape from the city. A gathering place for the community.
And standing on that porch is a tall, dark-haired man, greeting people with a wide, heart-stopping smile as they enter his inn.
I tighten my grip around my suitcase handle, dragging it behind me with purpose, resolve coursing through my veins. Come hell or high water, I’m going to make this vision come true.
I climb into the Uber, making a stop at my hotel to drop off my bags before taking another car to the property. I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I have no other leads.
I’d searched property records and called in favors, but no one had been able to find out anything about the new owner. There hadn’t even been any public documentation about the sale. Everything still listed Nikhil as the owner, though I’ve been told it’s not uncommon for there to be a delay while the new paperwork gets filed. That sometimes it takes a while to update all the records.
I’m not expecting to stumble upon the new owner at the site today, but I am hoping whichever developer bought the place will have started some kind of repair work by now. Sheetrock and flooring have to be stripped quickly after a flood. Otherwise, mold can set in, causing a whole host of issues. Someone should be working there today, taking care of all of that, and I hope they’ll be able to give me some insight about the owner.
I haven’t told Nikhil that I’m in town. I haven’t told anyone really, except for my sister. And I’m not sure I should tell him just now. I don’t want to get his hopes up about the property or confuse him. Really, I’m not sure what kind of reception I’m going to get from Nikhil. Maybe I’m just delaying the inevitable. Maybe there’s nothing left for us. But I’m going to get him his inn back, even if it doesn’t mean I’ll get him back. I have to make sure he doesn’t give up on this. I have to make sure he knows that I see his dream. His vision. That I see him .
The car turns onto the rough gravel road, and disappointment creeps through me when we come to a stop at the front of the house.
There doesn’t seem to be anyone here. No construction crew ripping out the rotting wood. No one on the roof patching up the holes. I’d hoped to see some activity. Some movement on repairing the place. If the new owner is just letting it sit, there may not be anything left to salvage.
I’m about to ask my driver to just take me back to the hotel when a loud clang sounds through the air.
I swing the car door open, my eyes scanning the house from top to bottom, trying to find the source of the sound.
“Hello?” I call. “Is anyone here?”
No one answers. I strain my ears, hoping to hear that noise again, but all I hear is the crunch of tires over pebbles as my Uber drives away.
I stare at the house, unsure whether I should venture inside. The porch is likely not safe to walk on, and whoever owns the place probably wouldn’t leave the door unlocked, so I make a wide circle around the building instead. When I’ve almost reached the back of the house, I hear that loud clang again.
I move faster.
“Hello?” I cry.
Another clang .
Something bright and shiny propped up against the side of the house catches my eye. A ladder. My gaze follows the line of it up and up and up, until I reach the end. And there near the top of the roof is a lone, solitary figure.
The person is crouched down near one of the holes, though that hole seems a lot smaller than I remember it.
Relief trickles through me. Someone is fixing this place up. For a moment I’d been worried that whoever bought it had just planned on scrapping it for the land, but if someone’s working on repairs then this place still has a chance.
I squint up, lifting a hand to block some of the sun’s glare, but I still can’t fully make the person out.
I almost call out again but stop when I see the figure move. It’s a quick, sudden swing of an arm and then another clang .
I wait until they’re done, then give it a try. “Hello,” I say, louder than before, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Can you hear me up there?”
Silence for a beat.
“Yes?” a man’s voice calls back.
My body almost sags at the staggering joy I feel. I’m not too late. This madcap, absolutely absurd plan might actually work.
“Hi! I’m sorry. I know you probably just bought this place. Or maybe you’re working on it for the person who did, but I need to talk to the owner. Or if it’s you, I guess I need to—”
“Hold on a sec,” the man shouts back. “I can barely hear you. I’m coming down.”
He shimmies across the roof, and something about the movement seems so familiar. I guess I have watched Nikhil do this a lot, back when I used to visit him while he was working. It’s a pretty distinctive kind of dance, which requires you to move slowly and carefully, making sure to find the right footholds. And I imagine it’s even harder on a roof like this. One so fragile, with shingles missing here and there.
With his back toward me, the man swings one foot onto the top rung of the ladder, and I rush to hold the base.
There’s a pair of ropes tying the bottom of the ladder to a stake, so he must have secured it properly before climbing, but I still feel the need to keep it steady.
We’re both quiet as he climbs down. At first, I track his progress, but that means I’m basically staring at his ass, which seems impolite. I shouldn’t be ogling some random guy’s butt, even if the millisecond glimpse I caught of it made it seem like it’s a very good one.
I look at my feet instead, then at my hands clutching the ladder.
“So,” I say, no longer able to handle the silence. “Sorry about before. And sorry to make you come down. I didn’t mean to take you away from your work. I’m just looking for the owner. I saw the house was listed recently and I was hoping to put an offer in, but someone snatched it up. Or if you’re the owner, I guess you did. And you probably wouldn’t be interested in selling if that’s the case, but I do want to make an offer. And it would be a competitive one, so maybe we could—”
“You’re right,” he says. “I don’t want to sell.”
I startle, my heart thudding fast. His voice is so close, and I know that voice. I peer up, and realize he’s hovering just above me.
I back away from the ladder, giving him space to swing down. He does, then bends over, dusting something off his jeans before straightening to his full height.
Even though I’ve just figured out that the mystery man on the roof was Nikhil, the sight of him is a shock to the system. Electric and sudden and jarring.
My eyes greedily run over his face, cataloging all the features I haven’t seen in days. His stubble is longer. I guess he’s let it grow out a little. But otherwise, he looks the same. Though his eyes look a little tired. Fatigued.
I want to wrap my arms around him. I want him to draw me close. I want to feel his heartbeat against mine and his chin resting on top of my head. I want to tell him that I’ve missed him. That I love him. But his expression stops me in my tracks.
More accurately, his lack of expression.
He doesn’t look happy to see me. And I can’t blame him for that. But he doesn’t look angry either. Or confused. His face doesn’t reveal anything at all.
“I came because…I wanted to—”
“You wanted to buy the house,” he says evenly. “I heard that part.”
I swallow. “Right. Well, I didn’t realize…I thought you sold it.”
He crosses his arms. “I didn’t.”
I scramble for words. My barely-thought-out plan is falling apart. I suppose I should be used to that by now, but this was supposed to be my moment. My way of showing Nikhil how much he means to me. Without the plan, I’m not sure how I’m going to do that. I’m not sure what I can say.
I’m stuck in place. My body and mind frozen.
After watching me for a long moment, Nikhil lets out a sigh. “Meena, why are you here? You don’t owe me anything. The terms of the divorce are settled. I don’t need some…some consolation prize. Or some gift from you because you feel guilty or because you pity me or—”
“No, Nikhil. It’s not that.” I take a deep breath. “I didn’t turn in the papers.”
His brows knit, and I force myself to continue.
“The divorce papers. I didn’t turn them in.”
Something bright flares in his eyes, hope or something a lot like it. I hold on to it, even when it flickers out quickly and his face returns to that dull nothing expression, I hold on to it like a lifeline.
“Was there something wrong with them?” he asks.
“No,” I say quickly, then shake my head. “Yes, actually. All of it. All of it was wrong.” I take a step toward him. “I didn’t come here just to find out about the house. I mean, I wanted to buy the house, but only because I thought you were going to sell it. I thought you were going to walk away from all of this, and I couldn’t let that happen. You deserve this, Nikhil. You deserve to be happy.”
He doesn’t react. Not even a little bit.
A lump forms in my throat. “But,” I say, “I guess you didn’t sell the place, so you already know all of this and—”
“Why didn’t you file the papers?” he asks, and for the first time, his voice is gentle; it’s lost some of its earlier hardness.
My vision blurs, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. “Because I couldn’t. Because I…Because I’m…” Something hot and wet slides down my cheek. I lift the back of my hand to wipe it, but Nikhil’s already there. His hand holds my jaw, and his thumb slides across my cheekbone.
“Because you’re what?” he asks. He’s so close I can feel the breath of his words on my skin.
“Because I’m in love with you.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’ve always been in love with you.”
“Meena,” he whispers. Something light touches my forehead. A brush of his fingers, I think, but I don’t move. Not an inch. I’m too terrified of what he might say. Terrified of what I might lose.
“Look at me,” he says gently, and slowly I open my eyes.
He’s no longer watching me blankly. His face is a kaleidoscope of emotion. Vibrant and colorful. With each millisecond, it shifts. From hope to fear to so much joy it makes me ache.
“I love you,” he says, cradling my face in both of his palms. “I’ve never stopped. Never. I’ve never not been in love with you.”
A sob of relief escapes my lungs, and he catches the sound with his mouth. In the days apart, I’ve replayed every kiss, every touch we shared during the storm, but this…It’s better. It’s not us desperately clinging to a few stolen moments, terrified that each second is bringing us closer to goodbye. There’s a certainty to each movement, a rightness. There’s no more bitter aftertaste of a looming expiration date. There’s just us.
Nikhil’s hand sneaks around to the small of my back. He pulls me closer against him, and I melt, the warmth from his body transferring to mine.
He loves me. He loves me. Still. After everything.
After a few minutes, he slows, his firm lips sliding one final time across mine before he pulls back entirely.
For a second, I’m worried, but he doesn’t step away, and my anxiety melts entirely when he leans toward me, his forehead resting against mine.
“We need to talk,” he says, with just a tiny amount of regret, making it clear he doesn’t quite want to. That he’d much rather continue as we were, but he’s right. There’s so much we haven’t said to each other. So much we’ve both buried and neglected all these years.
“All right,” I say.
We stay like that for a moment, our breaths intermingling, and then we part.
But as we walk back to the front of the house, Nikhil reaches toward me, slipping his hand into mine.