Chapter 22 #3
“I keep forgetting you’re a townie now,” I rib him playfully.
“It’s going to take me some time to get used to that.
” I turn toward the row of stately oceanfront homes, admiring their grandeur.
Ryder wraps his arms around me from behind, holding me against his chest as we take them in together.
“Do you remember when we used to scope out all these houses and pick our favorites? The idea of actually owning one seemed so farfetched back then.”
“I know. I felt like such an impostor the first time I bought my own place.”
“I still do,” I confess, relaxing against him. “Like my parents are going to come and ground me for not doing my chores.”
I study the house directly in front of us.
It’s straight out of a storybook with its wide wraparound porch, gabled roofline, and dormer window tucked beneath the eaves.
Old-fashioned gas lanterns glow on either side of the French doors, their flames dancing like fireflies in the dusky night.
I sigh, utterly charmed. “This one is to die for.”
“You always were a sucker for cedar shingles,” he teases.
“Can you blame me? It’s so quintessential Seafolly,” I tell him, admiring the classic siding that’s weathered to a silvery gray.
I rise on my tiptoes, trying to see over the fence that’s partially blocking my view.
“The pool looks stunning. Or what I can see of it, anyway. Ooh, there’s a hanging porch swing.
And a joggling board!” I squeeze his forearms, swooning over the long rocking bench that’s a classic Charleston porch staple.
This house just oozes southern charm. “Ten bucks says the porch ceiling is painted haint blue,” I say, referring to the Lowcountry tradition meant to ward off evil spirits.
“Ten bucks, huh?” He moves to stand beside me, his eyes holding a wicked glint. “You’re on. Shall we take a closer look?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before grabbing my hand and dragging me up the dunes.
“Oh, totally,” I deadpan, trailing behind him, my hand clasped firmly in his.
The hand that’s now sporting a diamond ring.
He runs his thumb over it, glancing back to catch my eye, and his boyish grin snares me like a lasso.
“I’m sure the owners won’t think it’s at all strange that Scarlett Everhart and Ryder Perry are poking around like a couple of peeping toms.”
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” he calls over his shoulder, guiding me onto the planked wood walkway that cuts through the sea grass toward the house. The cicadas are in full chorus, their buzzing rising like a fevered crescendo, loud enough to drown out our footsteps.
“How can you tell?” I ask, scrambling to keep up.
He hums a noise. “Just a hunch.”
When he strolls right up to the gate with its intimidating-looking keypad, I grab his arm.
“Ry, we can’t just walk up to this house,” I hiss, glancing around nervously.
He may think he can fly under the radar in Seafolly solo, but the two of us together are about as subtle as a neon sign.
It’ll be a repeat of the takeout kid, only this time the grainy, zoomed-in photos of us breaking and entering will headline TMZ.
“Sure we can.” He starts keying in a code, and I’m embarrassed to admit that it takes the door swinging open for the rusty gears in my brain to finally slot into place. “It’s my house.”
I stare at him like his hair is on fire. “What did you say?”
He sweeps a hand in front of him as if to say, After you. “This is my house.”
Now I’m the one having an unusual cardiac event. “You’re lying.”
He beams, clearly pleased with himself.
“This…utterly perfect house is yours? Are you serious?”
“You said you wanted to see it,” he says nonchalantly, and I smack his arm.
He can barely contain his grin. “I led you right to it and you didn’t suspect a thing. But it’s nice to know you actually like it and aren’t just humoring me.”
I shake my head and start walking through the door when he grabs my wrist to stop me. “What?”
He regards me seriously. “You’re wearing my ring, so technically I think I’m required to carry you over the threshold.”
I start to laugh, then shriek as he scoops me up by the knees, slinging me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“For old times’ sake,” he says, smacking my butt once for good measure.
“Where’s Holden when you need him?” I squeal in protest, flailing around and pretending to put up a fight, though it’s not very convincing.
He hauls me around the pool toward the house, striding along a path of bluestone pavers, and from my upside-down vantage point I’m able to spot a pair of teak loungers and a set of Adirondack chairs clustered around a fire pit.
A row of palmettos line the fence, a striped hammock strung between two of them swaying gently in the breeze.
I’m obsessed with every last detail. If I wasn’t already in love with the man, his backyard would’ve sealed it.
When we reach the patio door, he sets me back on my feet, steadying me with his hands on my hips. He leans in to kiss me, his palms moving up to cradle my face, and when I sigh contentedly into his mouth, I feel his smile against my lips.
When he pulls back, his eyes are so full of love, it nearly knocks me over. He opens the door with a flourish, his face lit with happiness.
“Welcome home, Scarlett.”