3. Melody
MELODY
My head still whirls from all the changes as I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a terrycloth robe, cinching the belt around my waist.
The movers arrive in two days with my remaining boxes and the few pieces of furniture I kept from Seattle. My quick trip back involved breaking my apartment lease and cramming essentials into my car.
Of course, I informed Katie of the move, and my agent wasn’t happy over another postponed deadline. But I promised Holly Ridge would spark the creativity I needed. The words sounded more convincing, leaving my mouth than they felt in my chest.
But I'm not sure that's true. I stare at my dripping blonde ringlets in the antique mirror over my grandmother's dresser, and inspiration feels miles away.
Exhaustion weighs on my shoulders, and standing here as a Holly Ridge resident seems like someone else's reality, not mine.
The question haunts me with each drip from my wet hair: Did I make a colossal mistake accepting this house with all its flaws?
There are significant issues that need attention—renovations that will drain the savings I've been counting on to sustain me until my next book release.
With my last novel performing so poorly, I can't help but worry about this next book failing, too.
Then I'll be more than just broke; I'll be trapped in a money pit that's crumbling around me.
House poor in the most literal sense—watching my security crumble like the cabin's aging foundations.
Outside the bedroom door, there’s a gentle thump, and my heart leaps into my throat.
Is that the front door opening?
I haven’t been staying here long enough to recognize all the sounds of the cabin, but with my parents back in Florida, I know that I’m definitely supposed to be alone in Gran’s house.
Alarmed, I look around for a weapon, my eyes falling on a heavy bedside lamp. Unplugging it from the wall, I creep toward the doorway and peek around the corner, gasping aloud. A man’s back faces me as he stands in the kitchen, a hood pulled over his head.
Oh, my gosh! I’m being robbed! I’m in a robe, and I’m being robbed!
Although I don’t know what someone would take. Gran’s antique tea cup collection? Her silver spoons? It doesn’t matter. All I know for sure is that someone is standing in my kitchen, and I’ve never been so scared.
My gaze darts back around the bedroom for my phone, but I realize that it’s being charged in the kitchen by the gas stove where I left it. Dread overwhelms me, and I close my eyes just as the man turns around.
“Hello?” he calls out in confusion. “Is someone here?”
What kind of burglar talks like that?
My lids pop back open, and my jaw drops to see Eli Barton gaping back at me.
His face lights up with recognition. "Melody!"
Dumbfounded, I can only stare at him, and he seems to understand my state of mind.
“Oh, geez,” he laughs, holding up his hands and backing up. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t realize anyone was here. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Your grandmother left me a key.”
"W-what?" I stammer, lowering the lamp to my side—I hadn't even realized I'd raised it like a weapon.
His gaze drops momentarily, before I become painfully aware that I'm standing there in nothing but a thin robe.
His eyes quickly dart back up to meet mine, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face.
“Hang on,” I mutter, shutting the bedroom door.
As fast as I can, I put on a pair of jeans and an oversized college hoodie, pinning my damp locks up in a messy bun without combing it.
After I slip on a pair of fuzzy socks, I head back out and find that Eli has retreated to the porch, where he’s sitting on the top step, scrolling through his phone.
“I really am sorry,” he tells me again as I tentatively sit beside him. “If I’d known someone was here, I obviously would have knocked first.”
I glance around the yard and see his truck parked near the road. I realize he wouldn’t have seen my car next to the house if he wasn’t looking for it. I exhale, still unconvinced by his explanation.
“Why would my grandmother give you a key?” I demand suspiciously. “You never mentioned that before.”
He tucks his phone away and reaches inside his jacket to produce a wrinkled envelope with my grandmother’s handwriting on it. “I got home the other day to find this in my mailbox. It was after I ran into you.”
I take the letter with his approval and open it. The words are undeniably my grandmother’s.
As I scan it, tears blur my eyes.
“She really sent this?” I ask, not because I don’t believe it, but because it makes me sad all over again. “Oh, Gran…”
“She was a special lady,” Eli tells me. “But she made it sound like the house was getting prepared for sale. I didn’t think you or anyone else was here.”
I nod understandingly and stand from the step, gesturing for him to come back inside. “It’s cold out here. Come in. I shouldn’t have barked at you. You just caught me off guard.”
"I would have barked at me, too, if I were you." He rubs the back of his neck with a smile. "No hard feelings."
Eli slips off his boots and coat and sits by the woodstove to warm up as I put on a fresh pot of coffee. I catch him looking at me as I work around the kitchen.
“So… what do you need me to do?” I ask awkwardly. “Movers will be bringing my things in two days, so I don’t know if you want to start tearing up the floors or anything…”
Surprise crosses his face. “Oh, you’re moving in?”
I meet his stunned expression with my own.
“Yes.” I immediately realize he still thought the house was going up for sale. “I’m staying.”
A flicker of pleasure ignites in his dark eyes, and I look away quickly, pursing my lips.
“Your work must be flexible, allowing you to pick up and move like that.”
My brow furrows slightly.
“I’m a writer,” I explain. “I can do that from basically anywhere.”
The smell of percolating coffee fills the interior of the cozy cabin, and I busy myself finding mugs from the cupboards. I find a Santa head and a moose, which I pull down, looking forlornly around the rustic room as I recognize that Gran didn’t put up any of her decorations.
Maybe because she was expecting to join Mom and Dad in Florida for the holidays. Or maybe she just didn’t get a chance.
“A writer?” Eli sounds impressed. “What do you write?”
The question brings a hot flush of embarrassment to my cheeks.
“Nothing you’ve heard of,” I mumble, eager to change the subject. I catch the look of hurt on his face, and I realize how that sounds. “Not that I don’t think you read,” I add quickly. “I just mean, the books weren’t that popular.”
“Ah. You’re a novelist.”
Not according to my last book sales, I muse. But I keep that thought to myself.
I offer him creamer, but he accepts the cup as-is. Before I can sit in front of him, my phone vibrates from the kitchen counter.
“Sorry,” I apologize, hurrying to answer the call.
“How’s it going?” my agent asks as I scoop up the device.
“Good,” I answer, darting a glance at Eli. “The movers will be here on Friday.”
“You have your computer, though, right?” Katie presses.
I grit my teeth. “Yep.”
“I’m not trying to put pressure on you, Mel?—”
“Sure you are,” I interject. “But you have every right to do it. I’m working on it, I promise.”
“I trust you,” she replies brightly. “When can I come to see your place?”
“Oh, it’s not really set up for visitors.” The last thing I want is for Katie to be here, breathing down my neck. “Maybe in the new year?”
“New year?” she echoes. “That’s weeks away. I want to see this charming little town.”
“It’s not really charming here,” I cut her off again. “And the house is actually kind of sad. The place isn’t decorated. I don’t even have a tree up.” Eli is staring at me, and I turn away. “I have someone over right now, Katie. Can I call you later?”
“I thought your place wasn’t set up for visitors,” she teases me, and I groan in her ear.
“Katie…”
“I’m just kidding. Relax.”
“Can I call you later?” I repeat.
“Fine. But make sure you do.”
“I will.”
We hang up, and I flash Eli another grin, sitting across from him at the woodstove.
The heat blasts up from the wrought iron and warms me, giving me a sense of nostalgic comfort.
In my mind’s eye, I see Gran sitting exactly where Eli is, her nimble hands whipping up a sweater with her spools of wool.
“We could fix that, you know?”
I stare at him blankly, taking a sip of my coffee. “Fix what?”
“The lack of a Christmas tree? There’s a farm about four or five miles out of downtown, and I know your grandmother always had decorations put out, so there must be a box somewhere around here.”
My eyes pop at the suggestion. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. That’s not what Gran paid you to do.”
“She paid me to make the house livable,” he replies with a shrug, sitting forward to set his moose cup on the wooden coffee table. “Part of that is making this place a little more festive. Then maybe you’ll feel better about inviting your friends over.”
He winks at me, and more heat climbs up my neck.
“Plus, I have a truck.” He gestures to the window and points to his truck. “You’ll never get a decent sized tree in the back of your little car.”
Warmth spreads through my chest at his offer. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not! It’s way more fun than hammering wood planks out in the freezing cold,” he laughs. “We can go right now, if you want.”
“Finish your coffee.” A renewed sense of purpose overcomes me. “I’ll see if I can’t find those boxes of decorations in the attic.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
I stand and give him a last look over my shoulder, wondering what his story is. I didn’t see a wedding ring on his finger, but that doesn’t mean he’s not happily involved.
What do I care if he is or isn’t? I scold myself, hurrying into the bedroom to access the attic through the closet. The last thing I need is more distractions. I have to get this book done, or Katie is going to disown me.