7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
The Man in the Lake
SAL
Fragrant flowers guided Sal on her descent to the garden that hot afternoon.
She hardly needed the sunhat because the yellow elder flowers had engulfed the trellis leading to the garden.
She looked at them in awe. The sun’s rays poured through the little cracks into what now looked like a tunnel of flowers spilling pockets of sunshine as she continued her descent.
The flowers swayed as she passed them, as if sighing with relief that someone had finally seen them in all their beauty.
She imagined them playfully beckoning her to the end of the tunnel, like they were whispering, Come see our sisters, the azaleas, the lilies, the white roses, and the peonies.
We are vibrant today; won’t you move closer and admire us?
When she emerged from the tunnel, it was like a dream, a bright, colorful dream.
She thought there would be sadness and dullness on this estate, but it was the opposite.
It felt like summer with the sticky, humid air, the fragrant flowers, and the scorching sun warming her skin.
It was strangely familiar—like home. The Philippines.
Her motherland. It had been so long, but there it was, a dull ache that could only be homesickness.
But why did she feel like it was much more?
“Madame, you will have a headache if you walk out in the sun without a hat,” said Briggs.
Sal hadn’t realized she had removed the sunhat. She looked down at it in her hands and laughed. “Oh! I’m used to this heat; I must’ve taken off the hat. I’m from the Philippines. It’s hotter there during the summer,” she said, smiling at him.
“Really?” Briggs looked pleasantly surprised. “I can see now why your beauty differs from the usual I see around here, madame.”
Sal was not used to receiving flattery from someone she barely knew. But there was something so earnest about Briggs that it warmed her. “Thank you,” she said.
She looked past the beautiful flower garden and the emerald lake to her cottage on the other side.
Instead, a floating shape intercepted her view.
It approached with a steadiness. The wind picked up, and the flowers swayed, their musk perfuming the surrounding air.
Soon, the obscure shape emerged; it was a man reading on a boat.
A man? Reading a book on a boat in this heat?
He must be an eccentric, Sal deduced. He also looked strangely familiar.
She couldn’t tell with his head down, buried in the book and with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses on.
The way the sunlight framed his masculine features made him seem like a lonely river god, casually loitering around his kingdom.
Perfect, still, and isolated. His black hair hung loosely, hovering over his cheekbones, and his skin looked like ivory.
The man’s deep black hair and fair skin were such a contrast against the green of the lake that the scene would have made for a beautiful painting.
“There he is!” said Briggs.
“That’s the buyer?” Sal turned to him, suppressing her surprise.
“Yes,” Briggs said as he hurried inside the house, no doubt in search of servants to assist their boss.
Sal remained in the garden, seeing if she could recognize him from afar.
Eccentric he may be, but one thing was as clear as the sun shining bright upon them—he was handsome.
The stirring, striking a kind of handsome.
It was only when the boat docked that she saw who he was.
It was Harmon. Her breath caught in her throat.
His attention fixed on her when he stood at the dock, and though she felt uneasy, she couldn’t take her eyes off him as he walked up the narrow stone path to the mansion.
He was wearing a thin white linen button-down tucked loosely into trousers. He had folded the sleeves to his elbows, and with a book in hand, he continued to the mansion and to her.
When they were finally at eye level, he raised a quizzical eyebrow and smiled, as if they were back in the loggia under the moon again. “I sometimes lose track of time when I read. Does that happen to you?” he asked as though he was talking to someone he had known all his life.
“That’s a really terrible excuse for being late to your own meeting, Mr. Moon.”
“Harmon,” he corrected her again, his eyes narrowed and with a restrained grin.
Sal pursed her lips in response. Her eyes drifted to his neck, and she noticed that the top few buttons were undone, revealing the upper part of his chest, glistening with sweat.
She could feel her cheeks warm up. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your glasses,” she said, distracting herself from whatever she was feeling.
“Reading glasses. An occupational hazard,” he said, tapping his thick-rimmed spectacles.
“Sir, you are late.” Briggs interrupted approaching them while holding a glass of water, and offering it to Harmon.
“So I’ve been told,” Harmon responded and took the glass from Briggs.
“Please hydrate, sir,” Briggs said, half-accosting, half-rushing him. He turned to Sal. “I see you have already met Madame Sal.”
“Yes. We met at the art show. Thought I’d meet the artist before purchasing the art,” he said, and took a few gulps from the glass of water.
Sweat from Harmon’s brow dripped down his temples as he closed his eyes and drank the cool water. She felt her cheeks burn again at the sight of him enjoying his drink.
When he was done, Harmon turned away and said with a stiff nod, “Enjoy lunch with your fiancé, Sal. Let’s talk again soon.”
RAFA
After a quick lunch, Briggs whisked Rafa and Sal away to a large study.
It was not unlike Rafa’s home office at Cannon Beach, but the place admittedly had more character.
It was smaller and more intimate, filled with old books and old paintings.
Perhaps the most curious part of the room was the dome-shaped sunroof, which lit up the whole study with a soft glow from the midday sun.
Rafa read little, but he appreciated a good study.
Not long after, Briggs arrived with Harmon. Harmon had once again donned an impressive three-piece suit; its blackness contrasted against a crisp white shirt, a black tie, and polished black shoes. Rafa knew for a fact that the man had money since he made a show of wearing it.
After entering and offering a modest bow, common to Korean pleasantries, Harmon languidly walked to the table and sat opposite Rafa and Sal. A suffocating silence befell the room as Briggs offered the paperwork to him. Harmon scrutinized it with an unreadable look.
“I like your study,” Sal said so softly it sounded like a gentle whisper.
Rafa loved the sound of her voice. Harmon looked up from the paperwork and appeared to be keen on her voice as well.
Rafa assumed that such a voice would stir any man who heard it.
He watched as the corners of Harmon’s eyes slightly dipped.
His hands gripped tightly. He wasn’t sure he liked how Harmon looked at his fiancée.
“Thank you,” Harmon said after going back to the contents of the folder. “I assume you like to read books too?”
Rafa remained fixated on Harmon, but could hear Sal smile as she responded. “I do. I thrift them if I can too. By the way, what book were you reading at the lake?”
“Remind me to tell you after the negotiations.” He smiled with dimples showing at both corners of his mouth.
“Negotiations?” Rafa repeated.
Harmon signed the paperwork and handed it to them. He turned to Rafa for the first time. His smile collapsed, but his eyes remained teasing. “Yes.”
“But this is a straight sale,” Sal said, sounding confused. “We delivered the entire collection. There’s nothing to negotiate.”
“You own Autumn Town Center, am I correct?” It sounded more like a statement than a question.
“Well, yes,” said Sal.
Harmon’s expression shifted. His eyes grew more intense, and for reasons unknown, Rafa knew what he was doing. He’d also done this many times before, although only in business meetings with difficult clients. Harmon was prepared to negotiate, and to persuade—to take. This was not good.
“Then I will make it simple. The art collection was just a bonus. You’re here because I seek to buy Autumn Town and the land beneath it.
” He signaled Briggs, and as if on cue, the once earnest Mr. Briggs could not look them in the eye as he proffered another envelope.
Harmon pushed it toward them, but neither of them moved to take it.
Sal’s hardened voice filled the room. “Apologies,” she said.
Her voice almost boomed in his ears. Rafa’s head snapped to Sal.
Her gaze looked icy, and he realized that, like the lioness protecting her cub, an instinctive power to protect what was hers had emerged.
“It’s not for sale,” she said, narrowing her gaze on him.
Harmon let out a sarcastic, taunting grin.
Rafa noticed something different about Sal.
She was no longer the woman he had first met, filled with self-doubt and fear; there she sat, strong, unmoved, and unafraid.
Her dark brown eyes shifted to a golden-brown hue from the sunlight.
And she looked on at Harmon as if to say, And so you dare?
It was time to step back and let her take the reins.