Chapter 13
She believed the regard to be mutual. —Sense and Sensibility
Elinor
“I’m taking you to my favorite place in the resort,” I tell Edward as we make our way up a steep trail.
Trail is a generous word. A narrow rockslide or dry waterfall would be more accurate.
The way is straight up and unforgiving. In just a few minutes of scrambling, we are already so high above the cottages that they look like the homes in a model train village.
A righteous fury powers me up the hill. Obviously, everything Edward said about the economics of running the park is true. But I don’t have to like it.
After doing a deep dive into Steele Properties and the sites they develop, I feel quixotic trying to sell Edward on my plans for Norland Park. But I have to try. And he has been listening.
It’s flattering, the way he follows my every word, and the way his eyes follow my every move.
A part of me is pleased that he seems to like me, not Annie.
But the rest of me is still frantically trying to save the park I love.
And the fact that we are wildly attracted to each other—that doesn’t help at all. It only muddies the waters.
I’ve gone my entire life without meeting someone I thought I could fall in love with—and now he’s here, following me with a bemused smile, his light brown hair flashing gold in the sunlight. Edward is so very likeable.
I wish I’d never met him.
“Almost there,” I say once we return to the gentle shade of the woods.
A carpet of dark green clover grows across the forest floor, interspersed with mossy logs, lichened rocks, and the chartreuse green starts of baby redwoods.
I pause at the base of an enormous tree that Annie named the “Tower” and begin to climb the wooden steps my father nailed to the trunk years ago, back when my biggest disappointment was that The Boy hadn’t returned that summer.
“Are you going to join me?” I call down to him.
To his credit, Edward is a fast climber and quickly catches up to me. When I reach the trapdoor to our tree fort, I holler back, “Are you afraid of heights?”
“Not really.”
“Good!”
I pull myself up onto the large wooden platform approximately the size of a king bed.
My stomach does a little flip when Edward climbs out of the trap door.
It feels like an important moment, bringing him here to my favorite place in the world.
In the wind, the platform sways ever so slightly.
He puts a hand on the trunk of the tree to steady himself as he looks out at the steep slope below and the shimmering ocean beyond.
The water reflecting the midday sun is nearly too bright to look at.
“What do you think?” I ask, feeling a little nervous. I want him to like it.
“This is . . . I don’t have words. I can see why this is your favorite place. We must be, what, thirty feet off the ground?”
“Good guess. It’s twenty-six. Which is even more crazy when you consider that when my dad first built it, there was no railing. And Annie played up here with me all the time. But we weren’t allowed to let the camp kids come up here. That’s when I learned the word ‘liability.’”
“This certainly is one big lawsuit waiting to happen. I suppose that’s why you never brought me here before.”
“No. We built it the summer after you.” I rest my elbows on the sturdy railing made of scrap two-by-fours. “I planned on bringing you here if you ever came back.”
“It only took twenty years,” he says as he walks up next me, mirroring my stance, his elbows also on the railing. We stand very close, but we’re not touching. The narrow strip of air between our two bodies is charged with possibility.
“Sounds like you had a very fun dad.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle softly. “He was just like my mom and sister. Such a romantic. He was mediocre at most things—except making us all feel loved. He was exceptional at that. He wanted to be an actor, you know, but it didn’t work out.
I mean, he was in a few commercials and an extra in a soap opera.
But he never got his big break. Then he met my mom.
They were married six weeks after they met. Can you imagine?”
I turn to look at Edward, and my arm brushes his, sending a jolt through my whole body. I quickly look away.
“They sound downright levelheaded compared to my grandpa. He married one of his wives after knowing her ten days.” He shakes his head with a bittersweet smile. “He couldn’t even make it two weeks.”
“That was my grandma Nora. I come from a long line of hopeless romantics who burn bright before they burn out.”
“And you?” He turns toward me, catching my eye.
“Me?”
“Are you also a hopeless romantic?”
“No, of course not.” I laugh a little too quickly. “If that were the case, I would have agreed to that first date with you.”
“I wish you had.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. For a moment, I wish I had too. But I can’t risk being that honest. I take a deep breath, gather my thoughts and cheerfully continue to lie to him.
“Then you haven’t really thought it through.” I edge away. We’ve been standing entirely too close. “Let’s say we had started dating last fall, and when your grandpa died, we were a couple.”
Edward nods along with a cryptic smile.
“Your mom would still want to sell the park, and you’d have an impossible decision: support your mom or support your girlfriend.
Whatever you chose, one of us would be hurt, and you’d be stuck in the middle.
” I take a breath. “Now, as things are, you don’t owe me anything.
No need to worry about my feelings. It’s better this way. ”
“Hmm . . . doesn’t feel like it.” He watches a cargo ship slowly moving along the horizon. “What do you guys call this place?” he asks, his eyes still fixed on the sea. “You must have named it.”
“The Tower.”
He nods. “So what is your vision for the Tower?”
Grateful for the change in subject, I slip back into work mode. “Luxury treehouses. Baby boomers and Gen X may want comfort and ease when they travel, but Millennials and Gen Z love experiences like sleeping in a tree or taking a hot bath surrounded by redwoods.”
“Gives a whole new meaning to forest bathing,” he says.
I pass him my phone. “Here are some pictures for inspiration.” Edward scrolls through the photos.
“I would love to stay there.” He says pointing to an interior with a woodburning stove and a snug bed and rain lashing on the windows.
As I lean in for a better look, he edges closer so I can see.
I’m not sure if it’s on purpose or if he’s even aware that my right arm is now up against his left one.
I’m certainly not going to draw his attention to the situation—I’m quietly savoring it while pretending not to notice.
As he passes my phone back our hands touch, and I swear his hand lingers.
We look at each other for a moment too long.
His eyes fall to my lips—just as they did on the staircase last night.
And now I can’t help but look at his, which are just the right mix of soft and firm—and this is utter insanity.
“What do you think?” I ask a little nervously.
“I like it. It has real promise. These treehouses are great. I would love to design one.” He pulls a small leather notebook and a Blackwing pencil out of his pocket.
“Nice notebook,” I say, watching him sketch.
“Another old-fashioned habit I picked up from my grandpa.” He taps the notebook. “I always carry it with me.”
“What sort of notes do you take?”
“All kinds—lists, ideas, inspiration, things I want to remember. Like what I’m sketching now.” He glances down at the page. “You gave me an idea for a treehouse.”
“You draw?”
“No, not really. But I wanted to be an architect. My mom and grandpa hated the idea. According to them, architects don’t make enough money.
I’m not sure why I listened. Maybe because my mom was paying for my tuition.
And . . .” He shrugs. “It wasn’t that strong of an inclination.
Actually, after working on several large projects, I think I should have been a landscape architect.
I love the nexus between indoor and outdoor living.
So this treehouse idea is my personal catnip. ”
It’s strangely endearing, this glimpse of the life Edward might have chosen. I want to ask him more about his dreams. But I should at least try to keep things professional, as hard as that may be.
He sketches while a woodpecker rat-a-tat-tats in the distance, and the feathery boughs of the tree sway in the sea breeze.
After working for a few minutes he asks, “Want to see?”
“Of course!” He passes me the journal. He’s sketched a quaint cottage built between two trees. It’s simple and perfect. “Wow, I love it!”
I’m also curious about the words on the opposite page:
J.J.—Front Desk
Virgil—Possum
Lady Whimple
I point to them. “And these?”
“Like I said, I take notes on things I want to remember.”
“Should I be offended that you wrote down J.J.’s name and not mine?” I tease.
“Don’t be silly. I write down things I might forget.”
I catch the compliment. But also, I have no idea what to do with it. So I carry on pretending he didn’t just say something that makes my heart purr.
“This is perfect.” I point back to his drawing. “I really like how simple and serene it is. It’s rustic, whimsical luxury.”
“Thank you. I was thinking of the other cottages. They do have a certain rustic charm. This place has definitely captured my imagination. I can see why you love it here. It feels a little like living in a dream.”
“Perhaps that’s why my family is full of dreamers.”
“Except you?”
“Except me. I’ve learned from watching my family. If you don’t dream, you’re not disappointed. Annie suffers several heartbreaks a year, while I keep my head down and bring in the paycheck.”
“What happened to the little girl who insisted we make the world’s best sandcastle?”
“She grew up. My childhood may have felt like a fairytale, but if it wasn’t for the goodness of your grandpa giving my dad a job, we might have starved.”
“I’m glad he did that. I’m not used to thinking of my grandpa as particularly altruistic. There’s so much I don’t know about him. One of the worst things about losing him is that I’ve lost my chance to ask questions.”
“I bet you miss him like crazy.”
“I do. Sometimes my sense of loss feels excessive, considering how frustrating he could be. He was always lecturing me and giving me unsolicited advice. I thought I hated it, but now all I want to do is ask him for more.”
“What was some of the best advice he gave you?”
“He used to say, ‘Don’t let temporary people do permanent damage to your life.’”
“That is good. I need to remember that.”
“Some of his advice was a little out there. He was always telling me to get married as fast as I could. Which is funny, because his five marriages made me more cautious about dating.”
“You weren’t that cautious with me. You asked me out in a matter of minutes.”
“Yeah, well,” He blushes and looks away. “Because with you, I just knew.” He gives me a half smile and it stops my heart.
But how could he know, when he had only just met me?
Then again, I have only just met Edward, and there are already things I know about him.
He doesn’t want to kick us out. He isn’t being entirely honest with me.
And I suspect that he wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss him—though we are both too responsible to do anything so foolish. More’s the pity.