Chapter 8
She found the letter for Mitch in with the rest of the paperwork. It was in a standard white envelope, with Mitch’s name written across the front in Arlington’s hand. The idea of going to see Mitch held zero appeal, but for Arlington, she’d have walked across broken glass.
She changed out of the comfortable leggings and T-shirt she was in, exchanging them for rolled-up jeans and a cute turquoise tee with embroidered multicolored flowers. She ran a brush through her hair, which still looked a little frizzy to her, since she’d let it dry naturally. A high ponytail fixed most of that.
She added a little makeup, not much, just enough to look presentable. Then put on flipflops, kissed Archie goodbye with a promise she’d be back very soon, and went out the front door.
The letter was in one of her back pockets, her phone in the other. She stood outside trying to see if there was a way through the border of trees and shrubs. She went closer, walked a few feet, and found something that looked like it had been a path but had become overgrown with disuse.
Was this how Arlington had gone to visit Mitch? Or had Mitch come to him? Or both? Mitch didn’t strike her as the kind of neighbor who’d visit. Or, truthfully, the kind of neighbor you’d want to visit, but here she was.
Only because of Arlington. That couldn’t be overlooked. This wasn’t any kind of social call. This was a moral obligation.
She could probably still cut through the path, but if Mitch saw her, would he just assume she was trespassing? She’d never get close enough to him to even give him the letter if he started yelling at her.
And she would not be sticking around for that.
With a sigh, she walked down the long driveway to the end of the road, then over to Mitch’s property, and down his long driveway to his house.
It was a nice place. The yard and landscaping were well-tended. There were even some flowers in some of the beds.
The medium blue composite siding was accented with white trim and black shutters. Much like every other home in Hideaway Bay, there were multiple balconies and decks to take in the great views.
This house only had a three-car garage, however. Slightly forward of the main house was the guest house Joyce had mentioned, done in the same exterior treatment. It had a balcony on the riverside, and in the front, a single-car garage.
Harper wondered if Joyce was allowed to use that to store her vehicle, or if Mitch kept another one of his cars in there. He probably had at least one exotic foreign sports car, one SUV, and some kind of luxury sedan. Possibly a golf cart as well. That seemed to be the standard setup based on what she’d seen in the neighborhood so far.
Her steps slowed as she drew nearer to the house. Her own reluctance. She silently rehearsed what she was going to say, trying to put the most important bits first to explain why she was here.
Then she realized Joyce would probably answer the door, not Mitch. Harper smiled. She was stressing about nothing.
She rang the bell when she reached the door, no longer worried. She’d just give the letter to Joyce and be on her way. Easy-peasy.
Handing the letter off wouldn’t do much toward befriending Mitch, but Arlington had no way of knowing the kind of guy Mitch had apparently turned into after he’d died. If Arlington knew that, he wouldn’t have made such a request in the first place.
“Who is it?”
The voice came from above her. She was standing at the covered front entry, so she backed up and found Mitch on the second-floor balcony, scowling down at her, hands firmly planted on the railing.
His frown deepened when he saw her. “Joyce isn’t here. And I’m trying to write.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I wasn’t looking for her—”
“Then what do you want?”
The man was a real grump. And somewhat intimidating. She swallowed and fumbled for the letter in her back pocket, pulling it out so she could hold it up and show him his name on the front. “I have a letter for —”
“Not interested.” He turned to go.
The nerve. There was rude and then there was this guy. Now she was mad. “Hey,” she yelled. “It’s from Arlington Marsh and it’s for you. Unbelievable as it sounds to me, apparently you two were friends.”
Mitch reappeared, still glowering, but at least his attention was focused on the letter. “Why do you have a letter from a dead man?”
“It was one of his requests to me, that I deliver it to you. It was in with the things I got from his attorney.” She left out the part about only finding it now and not a year ago when the package had been delivered.
She cut herself some slack on that. She’d been grieving and in no mood for what was certainly a bunch of dry lawyer-ese. She’d known about inheriting the cottage already. Wasn’t like she’d expected anything else.
Mitch hmphed and disappeared again.
She snorted out a breath. Was that it? Where was he? Didn’t he want this letter? She backed up further to try to see if he was still on the balcony, lifting up on her tiptoes to get a better angle.
“Well?”
She looked straight ahead. Mitch had come down and opened the front door. He was standing there barefoot in worn jeans and a T-shirt, revealing a slim, muscular figure that had been previously hidden by the trees and brush.
A lot of women would probably think he was handsome. Even with the stubble. And the scowling. Which had to be permanent, since it seemed to be his only expression.
He held his hand out.
She put the letter in it, gave him two seconds to respond, then said, “You’re welcome.”
He cut his eyes at her. Almost like he was amused. Or surprised that she’d said anything. “Why did Arlington give this to you to give to me? He could have mailed it. Or his attorney could have.”
She crossed her arms and shrugged. “Maybe he worried the mail would lose it.” She wasn’t going to tell him about the befriending part.
“Maybe.” Mitch inspected the letter, then lifted his gaze to her again. “Anything else?”
“Nope. That’s it.” She sighed. That wasn’t it. Arlington and his befriending. Ugh. “You know, if you ever want to chat or come over for a drink or—”
“I’m good.” He shut the door.
She stuck her tongue out, which was childish, but made her feel better, then turned on her heel and stomped back to her place.
This time, she took the overgrown path.