Chapter 8
Dawn was pearling the sky when he opened his eyes. Feeling out of sorts because of the long restless night, he eased up on the pillows and rubbed his hands over his face.
Coffee, he thought. The caffeine would kickstart his adrenaline and get him moving.
He had a full day planned for them, and he was damned if he was going to take no for an answer. The rain had stopped sometime during the night.
Swinging his legs off the bed, he padded over to the window. The fire had simmered down to mere ashes, but the place still retained the warmth.
Dragging on a robe to cover his nakedness, he stood there staring at the boats bobbing and weaving on the water.
The memories came, clear and concise ones where he was sitting on the deck with a fishing rod in his hand and a wide grin as he mirrored his father's movements.
The air was clear and crisp, the wind wafting over the water and cooling the atmosphere.
It had become a competition to them, seeing who could catch the biggest fish or fill up the basket the fastest.
His father had told him proudly that the student had become the teacher.
"You're making me look bad here, son," he had complained affectionately, tapping the baseball cap till it covered his forehead.
"You're getting old," he had responded with a cheeky grin.
That had brought on a bone-crushing shoulder hug that had him crying "uncle."
Slowly, he unclenched his fists and took several deep breaths. This was the reason he had not returned to the cabin: the painful memories.
Turning away from the rose-tinted sky, he went to take a shower and got dressed.
Coffee. He wanted to feel human again.
*****
The weak sunlight streaming through the windows reminded Regina that she had forgotten to close the curtains. Sitting up, she rubbed her hands over her eyes and blinked the last remnants of sleep before getting up.
Coffee, she decided as she stumbled towards the bathroom.
He was not up yet, which would give her some time to compose herself and play it cool. Completing her morning ritual of creaming her skin and oiling her scalp, she bundled up the thick locks and wrapped them into a careless knot on top of her head.
No makeup, she mused as she peered at her skin critically. The lack of sleep had done nothing to mar her complexion or give away the fact that she had had a restless night.
She selected a lime green top with thin straps crisscrossing at the back and cargo pants that rode low at her hips. Adding a few bangles, she considered herself ready to face the day.
She would make breakfast. He had brought in supplies.
Some pancakes: she had caught sight of fresh strawberries and cinnamon.
She hadn't eaten much and was starving. She had also seen the treadmill in one of the rooms.
A glance out the window showed that the sun was peeking through the rain clouds.
And the sunrise! Her breath caught as she hurried to the window.
It was striking. She had to admit that living in the city did not give her a chance to admire and appreciate nature like this.
It was something an artist would capture and had her wishing she could draw a straight line.
Stepping back, she went to find some tennis shoes to complete the ensemble.
The scent hit her as soon as she opened the door. Pausing on the landing, she had to steady herself, with one hand on the banister as she tried to revise her approach.
So, he was up and had put coffee on. And bacon.
She could smell it sizzling.
Taking a deep breath, she walked slowly down the stairs.
He was wearing a sleeveless tee that left his arms bare and was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. Strawberry pancakes.
Strips of bacon nestled on paper towel to drain the excess oil. The coffee pot was full, and he was listening to something bluesy on his phone, the volume turned down low.
As if sensing her presence, he turned, jade green eyes searching her face. It threw her composure to hell.
"You read my mind." She gestured to the meal he was preparing.
"Huh?"
"I had every intention of making pancakes."
"I felt the strongest urge for it and decided what the hell. Coffee is ready. Sit."
He jerked his head towards the table tucked under the window, which was already set.
"How long have you been up?" Pouring two mugs, she handed him one before going over to the table to pull out a chair.
"About thirty minutes ago. I'm accustomed to early rising. How did you sleep?"
"What?" The question unnerved her as she wondered if the sleepless night showed on her face after all.
"Strange bed and all," he clarified, expression curious.
"I- it wasn't bad." She lied.
"Good brew."
"The best." He plated the pancakes and added bacon, bringing them over.
"I forgot the syrup. We have maple, pecan, and strawberry."
"Maple."
The table was too small, she thought a little frantically. When he sat, his knees were brushing hers.
Moving away would make it too obvious, so she stayed put.
"You can make pancakes." She fussed with the syrup, drowning the pancakes as well as the bacon, causing him to wince.
"Which you'll probably not taste due to all that." He gestured to the syrup swimming on the plate.
"Oh!" She laughed and felt the tension dissolving.
"I tend to go for the excess. I love pancakes. And it's clear that I also love syrup as well."
Diving in, she scooped some up and chewed. "Very good."
"One of my specialties. We used to fend for ourselves whenever we came here. Mom insisted that I learn how to handle myself in the kitchen. At the manor, we weren't allowed within a mile of that room. The chef was very territorial."
Regina scooped up some more pancakes. "Is it the same chef that's there now?"
He shook his head.
"Manuel, that was his name, died five years ago. He had a stroke. He was rude and moody. The old man gave him full run of the kitchen, and he took it too far. Things had to be done his way all the time. Most of the staff were terrified of him. He shouted a lot."
"I met the one that's there now. He's very quiet and certainly can cook."
"Andre. Very French and respectable."
He picked up his coffee and took a sip.
"He's also not a pushover. The old man tried to intimidate him, but it didn't work."
"Good for him." To her surprise, she realized she had scraped the plate clean.
"I must have been very hungry."
"Or my cooking is that good." He voiced the alternative with a grin.
"Your ego is showing."
"It's more an appreciation for my talent." Her snort had him laughing.
"More coffee?"
She patted her flat stomach. "I'm too full."
"Good. I have just the solution."
"Let me help-" she began. He shook his head and started to clear the table.
"You did the cooking. At least let me do the dishes. It's only fair."
"The dishes will wait." Snagging her hand, he pulled her up.
"What're you doing?" she demanded, trying to tug her hand free.
"We're going for a walk. It's a beautiful day, and we're going to take advantage of it."
"I don't-"
Hissing out a breath, she lapsed into silence as he marched her to the closet at the front and took out jackets.
"Craig-"
"We're here. The least we can do is enjoy it."
He bundled her in before shrugging into his. Taking her arm, he led the way out and started talking before she could start arguing.
"Look at that sunrise." He led the way down the steps and turned right.
"I bet you haven't seen anything like it. Not in the city."
"You sound like a tour guide," she grumbled, allowing herself to be manipulated.
He flashed her a grin, not in the least bit offended, and could feel her relaxing. "There's the stream."
He pointed towards it. In the quietness of the morning, every sound was magnified.
They heard birds calling, the water rushing over stones. It added to the magic.
"You have boats."
"Yes. We can go for a boat ride."
He glanced at her critically. "Unless you're afraid of the water and cannot swim."
"Buddy, I'm a fish."
"Good." His smile widened.
He had an idea for this morning and would have to ease her into it. If not this morning, then tomorrow.
Sliding his hand down, he took her hand and linked their fingers, holding his breath as he waited for her to pull away. When she didn't, he released the breath slowly and carefully.
He loved feeling her hand in his. It felt right.
"What are those?" In spite of herself, Regina was becoming enchanted.
It really was a beautiful place. She preferred the noise and rush of movement, but the solitude was growing on her.
"What?"
"These flowers growing in a circle around the dogwood tree."
"Azaleas, and those are begonias. Mom was an avid gardener."
His voice became melancholic as he continued.
"She would do her research and rope me and Dad into her garden project. That's the only thing she stood her ground on while living at the manor. She was in charge of the gardens."
Regina had seen the gardens at the manor and admired the lushness of the fertile grounds.
"She planted herbs as well."
"She did. Rosemary, thyme, scallion, basil, among others."
"They are still being maintained."
"The old man hired gardeners to do the job. That surprised me."
"I think he admired what your mother started."
He glanced at her in surprise at her intuitiveness and nodded. "I think he might have."
He pointed out some more flowers blooming and told her the names. The rain had washed everything clean, and there was still water dripping off the blooms.
The scent was fresh and enticing. Squirrels scrambling up the trees added to the mystique.
She was so caught up in the sounds and sights around her; it took her a moment to realize they were headed up to the steps leading to the deck at the back of the building where the boats were docked.
"What're you doing?"
"It's early enough to have the fish biting." He drew her onto the dock, resisting her effort to pull away.
"I draw the line at that kind of activity. Craig-"
"Shh, you're going to scare them away. And you can always watch."
Hissing out a breath, she glared at him, which made no difference.
"What're you going to catch them with? Your good looks and charm?"