Page 35 of The Treasure House

The sash windows were thrown open to the heat and I leaned against the counter, watching the shine of the bay and wishing I could be down there in the water, instead of up here facing a hot day full of culch.

Jake reemerged from the kitchen and snatched two cabin keys off the hooks before sliding them over the counter to me, along with another photocopied map. He circled cabins seven and eight and handed it over. His sea-glass-green gaze flicked up to mine as our hands brushed.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to sound like my heart wasn’t pounding a mile a minute.

“Your folks staying for the week, huh?”

I nodded. “Flo and I are staying in a cabin too, until they’re happy with our cleanup,” I admitted. “They seem to think we’ll get buried in an avalanche of stuff if we try to sleep there now.”

Jake didn’t seem surprised.

The puppy set up a frenzied barking and was tangling herself up in her leash.

“Dog!” Jake called. “Be quiet!” He swore under his breath. “Hold on while I go untangle her.”

I watched his broad back as he went to rescue his puppy.

“This place is great,” Wayne said as he emerged from the aisles with an armful of stuff. He had face masks and gloves and what looked like a scythe. “It’s like something the Grim Reaper would use, isn’t it?” He was thrilled with it. “And check out the price—it’s a bargain.”

“People mostly use power tools these days, I guess,” I said, amused.

“I should have brought my weed whacker from home, but this’ll be more fun.” Wayne looked as delighted with his old-fashioned scythe as Flo had been with her porcelain cats.

Jake came back in with his puppy, who was falling over her feet with joy at being by his side. He seemed irritated by her affection. “Sit,” he ordered, taking her over to the dog bed by the cold potbelly stove.

She didn’t sit. She followed him, trailing her leash, her pink tongue lolling out of her mouth.

“That thing won’t make a dent in your yard,” Jake said dryly, nodding at the scythe.

“We came to ask who we should call to cut back the yard,” I admitted. “You said you could recommend someone?”

“Oh yeah, I have a cousin in Rockport. He’s pretty busy right now though, mowing lawns for all the summer folk. But I can give him a call. When do you want it done?” Jake pointedly ignored the puppy, who was looking up at him with adoring eyes.

“Ideally as soon as possible,” Wayne said, dropping his purchases on the counter. “We can’t really get moving with the place until we have somewhere to dump all the stuff.”

“I probably should have organized this before we came,” I mumbled. I felt completely out of my depth. But in my defense, I’d had a lot to do in the couple of weeks before the move.

“I’ll message him, but I don’t think he could get here today.” Jake fished his phone out of his pocket. “I can give you a loan of some tools in the meantime, though, if you want, and you can have a go at it yourselves. You could at least clear the area by the back door.”

Wayne thanked him. “We might need some tarps too. Zoe doesn’t want anything ruined by rain.” Wayne wandered back into the aisles.

The screen door slapped open. “Goddamn it, Jake. You got to stop feeding those gulls.” A snappish voice rang out, announcing the arrival of a new visitor. “They’re a menace. And they make a mess of the picnic area.” An older woman with a bouffant hairstyle dyed carrot orange bustled into the store, carrying a rack full of bread rolls in clear plastic bags. A cloud of drugstore perfume came in with her.

“What do you care, Doris? You don’t have to clean it up.” Jake didn’t look up from his phone.

“No, but I’ve got to walk through it. And those little bastards try and steal my bread. I feel like Tippi Hedren in The Birds out there.” The orange-haired woman gave me a sharp look but kept going through to the kitchen. “I don’t know how the boys next door put up with you,” she complained loudly as she went.

“If anyone has to put up with anyone, I have to put up with them,” Jake grumbled as he kept typing his message. “Alan practices those bagpipes at the crack of dawn. Who plays bagpipes?” he asked me. “You ever heard of anyone playing bagpipes?”

I shook my head.

“It’s a wonder anyone comes back to their B&B with all that racket.”

“People like it,” Doris called crossly. “It’s local flavor.”

“Sure, if you’re in Scotland,” he called back, even more crossly.

“You haven’t even started on lunch prep,” Doris scolded him, reemerging with her empty rack, having delivered the bread rolls for lunch trade. “Why, you’ll be overrun soon, and you haven’t even chopped the scallions.”