Chapter 7
NAUDI
The first thing I notice when Walker opens the truck door is the smell.
We both live on the island, but out here everything is different.
It’s like we traveled back in time. Even the air is different.
It has the same fresh salt scent, but above that is a burst of floral.
It reminds me of walking into the garden area at the Farmer’s Market near where I used to live in New York.
My gaze goes back to the house. My gosh, it’s huge and looks like it belongs in a magazine spread under the heading “Southern Charm” or “Historic Coastal Estates.” Eight two-story columns rise from the wide lower porch to the upper porch, black iron wrapping both levels in pretty curves.
The drive up to the house is dramatic enough with those gorgeous live oak trees lining both sides of the road. Spanish moss completes the picture, which I’m sure would be the delight of any Hollywood director doing a period piece.
I turn my attention from the house to Walker. Then back to the house. There are at least a dozen wooden white rocking chairs on the porch. Each has a small table beside it with a huge fern on top. My gosh, there are even cushions in the chairs.
“You never told me you live in the kind of place where people say things like summering and afternoon tea.”
His mouth twitches. “We don’t say that.”
“That seems wasteful.”
I catch his too brief smile. I know how few of those he releases, which makes this one even more special. It feels personal, like something shared between the two of us.
His hand extends to help me down. Since I have no intention of testing my ribs by jumping down on my own, I take what he offers. The second my feet hit the gravel, pain stabs my side hard enough to take my breath.
Walker’s fingers tighten around mine. “Easy.”
“I am beginning to hate that word.”
“I imagine there are several words you hate right now.”
“Yes,” I answer dryly. “Fiancé is high on the list.”
That gets me another one of those near-smiles.
He moves closer, close enough for me to brace a hand on his arm while I get my balance.
His T-shirt is soft beneath my palm, but his muscle is not.
The man works outdoors for a living. There’s nothing soft about him except maybe his voice. Who knew bees are a good workout?
“Can you make it up the steps?” he asks.
“Of course I can.”
He raises one brow.
I narrow my eyes. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me as if you already know I’m about to lie.”
His mouth twitches again. “So don’t lie and let me help you.”
I hate how much I enjoy that he’s getting bolder with me.
The front door opens before I can come up with a response, and an older man steps out onto the porch. I know immediately who he is. Walker has his height and broad shoulders, but where Walker is all quiet watchfulness, his father wears a big, open smile on his face.
“Well, there she is,” he says, as if I was expected and wanted and not simply landing on his doorstep as his fake future daughter-in-law. “It’s nice to meet you, Naudi.”
I straighten on instinct, and my ribs complain. I ignore them. “You as well, sir.”
“Oh, none of that.” He waves away the formality. “Tom is fine. Or Mr. Colley if you’re mad at me. Though I’d rather you save that for him. Your fiancé. I, for one, am thrilled to finally get a daughter-in-law.” He looks over his shoulder at Walker.
Walker sighs. “You told me you wouldn’t start.”
“I did not,” Tom replies. “I told you I’d behave. Those are two different promises.”
I look from one man to the other and before I can stop myself, I laugh. It surprises all three of us.
Tom beams as if he just won something. “Good. That’s a sweet sound. Means you’ll fit right in here.”
I take a breath and feel my burst of energy quickly fading. My shoulder folds forward and my grip on Walker tightens.
Tom comes down the last step and looks me over with the kind of frank concern only old men and aunties ever get away with. “You look peaked.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By him?” he asks, inclining his head toward his son.
“Dad, we need to get her inside.”
“Of course. You can admire the house later. Though I admit it does deserve admiring.”
“It is beautiful,” I agree, looking up at the blue painted wood beneath the second-floor porch.
Tom’s whole expression softens with pride. “It’s been in the family a very long time.”
“Walker mentioned that.”
“Did he also mention his pirate ancestor or did he save that little detail? I think it makes us sound rakish and dangerous.”
My eyes widen and I turn to Walker. “I knew it.”
“You’d already figured it out.”
“That’s not the point.”
Tom laughs, and the sound booms across the porch. “You two are already sounding like a married couple. Come inside before my son makes you stand out here all day. He got his manners from his mother, but his conversation skills came from somewhere entirely unfortunate.”
“I’m standing right here,” Walker mutters.
“And I’m still talking.”
Walker’s other hand, the one I don’t have a death grip on, comes to steady my elbow. Together we climb the steps at a pace slow enough that I don’t have to pretend I’m fine. For the second time in less that twenty-four hours, I let him help me without fighting it. That should bother me.
The inside of Colley Point stops me cold. My expectations are nothing like the real thing.
We step into the two-story foyer. I never knew a foyer could be grand, but there’s no other way to describe this one. It is literally bigger than my entire apartment.
There’s not one staircase going to the second floor, but two.
One on each side of the room, curving around as they descend like open arms welcoming me in.
A round table, very antique and I don’t have to guess at that, sits between the two filled with family photos and a cut glass vase filled with fresh flowers.
A grandfather clock ticks somewhere deeper in the house, and the place smells of lemon oil, coffee, and a field of flowers. Light reflects and sparkles around the room from the large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. How do they change the lightbulbs?
With all the history dripping from every corner, it should feel cold, museum-ish.
But it doesn’t. My first impression is its grandness, but more than that, it feels like a home that’s been lived in.
I can just see Walker and his sisters racing down the staircases or sliding on the marble tile floors.
I must have let some of my awe show because Tom says, “You were expecting cobwebs and ghostly pirates?”
“I was expecting…” I glance around again, searching for the right word. “Not this. Your home is lovely. I wasn’t expecting something this grand to feel so homey.”
“That’s thanks to my late wife. This old house has seen a lot of life and love over the years.”
That hits me harder than it should. Growing up, our home was large by most standards. Beautiful furniture, polished floors, expensive curtains, not a thing out of place. Even after years spent there, it felt less welcoming than this house does in the first ten seconds.
Walker moves beside me, setting my bag down near the staircase. “Do you want to sit first or see your room?”
That he asks instead of deciding for me puts a tiny crack in the I-can-do-it-myself attitude I’ve had in place since I left India.
“Sit,” Tom answers for me.
I turn to scowl at him and he grins back at me. “See. Now you’ve got some color in your cheeks.”
Walker hides whatever expression threatens his poker face by bending over for the bag. “Sit first?” he asks again and waits on me to answer.
Another point in his favor. “Yes. Please.”
He leads me to a sitting room that opens off the foyer. I’m surrounded by soft cream walls, dark blue accents, and long windows that look out over green, open fields filled with rows upon rows of flowers. “I’ve never seen so many flowers.”
“We like to think it’s the secret to the unique taste of our honey. In all honesty, we have no idea,” Tom says.
Walker guides me to a plush couch. Lowering myself cautiously, I release a slow breath when I’m finally settled. Tom disappears without a word, but returns less than a minute later with a glass of water.
“Thank you.” I take the glass gratefully and sip.
“Do you want a pain pill? Or do you want to lie down?” Walker asks.
“Not just yet. I’m fine really, and if I lie down now, I won’t sleep tonight.”
“Then rest for a while, and then I’ll show you around a little. Nothing strenuous.”
“No stairs,” Tom warns.
“I know.” Walker frowns at his dad.
“No overdoing it.”
“I know, Dad.”
“No carrying heavy things.”
Walker levels a frustrated look at his father.
Tom shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m covering all the bases.”
I take another sip of water to hide my smile. Walker’s eyes meet mine and hold for a second. There’s amusement there. Weariness too. And something else that warms my skin in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
His father carries the conversation. He asks about my work, and I ask him about the bee business. We talk about mutual friends and island life. Nothing serious, we’re just getting to know each other.
Walker steps back and observes. I suppose he decides I’ve rested enough when he holds out his hand. “Ready?”
I’m surprised we’ve been chatting for almost an hour. I set my glass down and take his hand. Instant shivers run up my arm. What’s that about?
He pulls me carefully to my feet, and just that small motion makes me feel more fragile than I like. So I keep my grip on his hand until I’m steady and then I let go.
The downstairs tour is brief. He just hits the high points—the kitchen, pantry, dining room, and a breakfast room off the kitchen.
When he steps into the library, I stifle a gasp.
I wish I was going to be here long enough to explore all the tempting titles but especially to climb and ride the ladder attached to the shelves.