Chapter 14
What have wealth or grandeur to do with happiness? —Sense and Sensibility
Edward
This is it—the last stop on my private tour with Elinor. I’m sorry to see it end—not simply because she’s my new favorite person, but because before I leave, I have to fess up.
If I’m going to have any chance with Elinor, I need to tell her that I own Bumble Cottage—and that I haven’t been entirely open about the current plans to revamp Norland Park.
I’m confident I can sell Lucinda on the boutique treehouses, but there’s no way she’ll sign off on scrapping glamping in favor of regular camping.
I’m not sure if I need to tell Elinor all my misgivings, but I owe her something. We’re not dating. We’re not exactly friends either, but . . . she feels like so much more than a business acquaintance.
We walk down the tunnel of trees leading to the cove.
Gnarled oak branches arch above us, their shiny dark green leaves providing dappled shade.
I remember this walk well. A stream gurgles alongside the path through thick snake grass.
In twenty years, so much has changed in my life, but this place has stayed the same.
I suppose the trees have grown, but it’s hard to tell because so have we.
We step out of the tree tunnel into the sunshine of the private beach. The creek runs into the water, fanning out as it meets the sandy shore. Several children wade in the shallows of the stream trying to catch small fish. I half expect to see my younger self.
We walk to the far edge of the sheltered cove past most of the beachgoers. I point to the towering pile of gray rocks. “That’s the castle, right? And beyond that is the grotto we called the pirate cave?”
“You’re right, but it’s filled with water right now. Just past it is the small sandy beach.”
“I remember. Our own private beach. Could we wade around to it?” I want to take off my shoes and cross through the water.
“I’m afraid not, the tide is too high right now.”
“Maybe another day,” I say.
“Maybe,” she says, but she doesn’t sound very hopeful.
“It’s weird,” I say, “how the world can move on, and yet this place—it feels the same.”
Elinor raises a brow. And in that one gesture she packs a whole lecture—or maybe it’s just my guilty conscience. And you’re thinking of changing it, her dark eyes seem to reprimand me.
The current plans wouldn’t change this beach—not much. We would only add a small structure to serve as a bathroom and changing room, plus storage for beach chairs and umbrellas. Would that be such a bad thing?
But it wouldn’t stop there. The changes to the resort would bring a different crowd.
Fewer small children playing in the shallows.
Fewer families. Fewer people from all backgrounds and walks of life.
It would become a destination for the elite, the entitled, and the wealthy who already own most of the world. Do they really need this beach too?
“You know why people love Disneyland so much?” Elinor asks.
“Peer pressure?” I venture with a grin. She guffaws.
“No . . . people are paying for nostalgia, for familiarity. In an ever-changing world, it’s nice to go back to some place you went to as a child—a place where you were happy and innocent.” She shakes her head slightly. “People will pay a lot of money for that feeling.”
“Are you suggesting that if we improve this place, it will lose its magic?”
“Not at all. Disneyland is always making improvements—new rides, new foods. But they are careful to preserve the essence of the experience. That’s what I want for Norland Park. I want guests who came here as children to return with their own children and still feel that same magic.”
A sea breeze pulls another lock of her hair loose. Without thinking, I reach over and tuck it behind her ear.
“Like I do right now.”
“Do you, Mr. Frechette? Did anything I say get through to you at all?” she says, a trace of frustration in her voice.
Again, that lock of hair whips across her face, and I restore it behind her ear. My hand lingers there this time, resting on her cheek.
“You have no idea,” I say quietly. “In one day you have completely turned my world upside down.”
She looks up at me. Something shifts in her expression—small, unreadable. To be this close to her is everything, and for the first time this afternoon, she doesn’t step away.
My eyes dart to her lips, then back to her eyes, silently questioning. She gives the slightest nod, almost imperceptible, and I take it as permission. With my other hand I clasp her waist and pull her in close. Her eyelids flutter shut.
This is crazy and far too soon, but at the same time, it feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment—why didn’t I kiss her sooner?
The answer hits me as cold and unwanted as a rogue wave: Because I’m dating Caroline.
I hesitate. Caroline and I aren’t serious. I wouldn’t call her my girlfriend, and I doubt she considers me to be her boyfriend. We’ve been on a few casual dates and only kissed once. But still, I have a feeling Elinor would not like me kissing her before I officially end things with Caroline.
With monumental effort, and with every atom in my being screaming at me to do the opposite, I do not kiss Elinor Greenwood.