Chapter 34 #2
It’s hard to believe that just a few hours ago, I got schooled by Mrs. Eisenhower and pondered her words with perhaps too much seriousness. And even thought that Ewan and I were on the wrong path.
Briefly, I was anguished by the idea that he might never show up at my door again. That we were just a fling, and that was that.
And look at us now.
The night breeze messes with his hair. A smile tugs at his lips when he feels my stare on him.
“How do you like it?” he asks, glancing at me.
I must look like someone who’s never been on vacation.
“I have no words to express how much I love it,” I say sincerely before moving my eyes to the manicured lawns outside.
Soon, we roll onto a bridge, and before long, the smell of the ocean becomes more pronounced.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
We had an agreement not to discuss our destination.
He wanted it to be a surprise, and now I see why.
A beautiful island stretches out in front of us, punctuated by lights, cloaked in the peaceful air of an eternal summer.
“Anna Maria Island,” he says quietly, convinced he’s made the right choice. “Have you been here before?”
“Never,” I say, taking in the colorful houses.
Not far from the beach, we come to slow down in front of one of them, which is beautifully tucked in a sanctuary of vegetation. The Christmas lights decorating the eaves only make it look even more quaint.
“We’re home,” he says with a soft smile, and I’m so smitten with his words that if he dropped to his knee, pulled a jewelry box from his pocket and proposed to me right now, I’d say yes without thinking about it much.
“Yes, we are,” I murmur.
We veer into the driveway and come to a full stop before climbing out.
A short walk later, he runs his fingers over a smart lock and opens the door for me.
Again, I almost expect him to lift me up and carry me over the threshold as if we were newlyweds.
We’re doing a little tour of the house.
The inside is as colorful as the outside, and it must look phenomenally washed in bright sunlight in the morning.
The walls are painted in a light mint color, and the floors are dark and polished, while the doors and frames are all white.
Framed photographs of palmettos, infinite white sands, and blue water are scattered across the walls.
Whicker chairs and a table sit on the back porch, overlooking the pool.
There’s a grill outside next to the lounging area, and strings of colorful lights gleam everywhere, swaying in the breeze.
“I’ll bring the bags. Make yourself comfortable,” he says, and I keep strolling around the house, taking it all in.
I can see how this could be someone’s family house. Maybe it was, and they transformed it into a vacation home rental.
It’s not hard to imagine a family of four, adults and kids, with perhaps a few pets, living here.
Who knows what happened to them and if that family was more than a product of my imagination.
The bedroom is a spacious room with a wide platform bed and plenty of pillows. It took a lot of effort and attention to detail to make the house as visually appealing and cozy as it is.
I move to the kitchen.
The refrigerator is stocked with fresh food, drinks, and bottles of water. There’s cheese, eggs, meats, seafood, veggies, fruit, and a chocolate cake.
Great selection.
I open the cupboard and notice two loafs of bread.
The pantry has everything anyone would need in their house. The basics. Pasta, tuna fish cans, canned tomatoes, olives, mustard, olive oil, marinated dried tomatoes, anchovies, jams, and cereals.
And a ton of other things.
I feel like cooking now.
“Did you find everything you needed?” he asks, setting the bags down.
He doesn’t talk about the food as he tilts his chin toward the bedroom.
“Yes. I didn’t check the bathroom, but I’m sure everything we need is there. We have food,” I say, smiling.
He flashes a grin.
“I asked the housekeeper to shop for us.”
I lift an eyebrow.
“Housekeeper?”
“Yes. This is one of my brothers’ homes.”
“Oh,” I murmur, unable to hide my surprise.
“Is it the same brother? Callan?”
“Nope,” he says, washing his hands in the sink, not offering his brother’s name.
“Have you been here before then?” I ask.
“Yes, I have. I spent some time here before he moved to Montana.”
“Interesting,” I say, moving my eyes around the place.
“What’s so interesting?” he asks. “What are you looking for?” he asks again.
“I want to make a cup of coffee.”
“The machine is over there,” he says, pointing to another pantry I haven’t noticed before.
“Nobody was using it, so he put it away,” he says, talking about the coffee machine.
“So this isn’t a rental house then?” I ask, setting the coffee machine on the counter, plugging it in, and turning it on.
“Everything is in the cupboard,” he says helpfully. “No,” he continues. “A lot of people rent out their homes on the island, and he was tempted to do that too, but he never got around to doing it. The good thing is, he renovated it before he moved out.”
I turn my back to him and focus on making a pot of freshly brewed coffee.
“What was so interesting?” he asks, and I flick my eyes over my shoulder.
“You were saying something before,” he reminds me.
I pull two mugs from the cupboard.
“Do you want some?” I ask.
“Okay,” he says, waiting for my answer.
I fill the mugs and place them down, weighing my words.
“My first thought was that this house had been occupied by a family at some point. So I came up with this story in my head, that the kids must be all grown up, and maybe the owner and his wife became empty nesters and moved someplace else.”
He pushes back one of the chairs at the table and takes a seat.
“What made you say that?” he asks, his voice serious, perhaps too serious.
I sit across form him and push his drink in front of him before curling my fingers around mine.
“It’s a beautiful place perfect for a family. The only thing missing is the family,” I say smiling, my grin unable to dissolve the thoughtful expression on his face.
“You’re off a little,” he says, emotionless. “But not that far from the truth.”
With that, his willingness to give me more ends abruptly.
“You know what? What about we go outside, and I’ll cook for you,” he offers, pushing his chair back and already pivoting toward the refrigerator to retrieve some of that food.
“Sure,” I say, stifling my surprise.
Grabbing my cup of coffee, I follow him outside, curious to see what he plans to cook.