Page 23 of Unspoken Love

She’d come back. Maybe with Nate. Maybe with better equipment.

Right now, she’d had enough mystery for one day. She took several photos on her phone of the passageway, the staircase, and of herself smiling and sticking out her tongue at the bottom of the stairs.

When she started the long, careful climb back up into the house, avoiding more cobwebs, her mind filled with questions.

Why had this passage been hidden?

Who had taken great pains to hide it?

And did anyone else know it was here?

Chapter Eight

Nate jiggled the old key in the front door’s lock until it finally gave with a satisfying click. He pushed the door open and stepped into the little green-trimmed cottage—his cottage now—and grinned. The place smelled like cedar, age, and potential.

He stood in the entryway for a moment, just soaking it in. The ceilings were vaulted with wood planks that needed sanding and a fresh coat of stain. The windows in the entire home were older than he was and drafty and would all have to be replaced, but the bones of the house were solid.

Classically styled.

The living room was filled with soft morning light, highlighting so many other items he was adding to his growing list. There was a stone fireplace that was obviously original and had the kind of mantel that begged for a row of photos once it had a fresh coat of paint on it.

Thankfully, hardwood floors ran throughout the house. Even though they were scratched and scuffed from decades of wear, he knew that was an easy fix. He’d helped his parents sand and stain the floors in his childhood home at least three times over the years.

He ran a hand over the doorframe as he stepped inside, mentally tallying his to-do list.

First would be patching the drywall and fixing the floors. He wasn’t about to move his furniture in until they were done.

For now, he’d brought with him the essentials: an air mattress, his toiletry items, a small table, and his coffee maker.

The kitchen needed lots of love too. The cabinets were sturdy but outdated. The countertops were scratched and broken, and the faucet was leaking. He’d replace all the appliances as well. He was thinking of a total remodel and maybe even a new design for the space. But there was an old-school charm here. The kind you couldn’t fake with subway tile and marble. He could already see it coming together.

By the time he finished unloading his tool boxes, a few bags of clothes, and his Bluetooth speaker from the back of his truck, the sun was high and he was sweating through his shirt. He stood on the back porch with a cold bottle of water and looked out toward the bluff. The ocean stretched far and wide beyond the windswept grasses, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and pine.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Faye:

“Closed on the place. Swing by after work? I want you to see it before I ruin it too much.”

She replied almost instantly:

“Congrats! I’ll stop by after three. Can’t wait! Want me to bring anything?”

“Just your expert design eye,” he replied, then added, “and maybe a pizza from Baked.” He slid his phone into his pocket with a grin, then rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

It took him almost two hours to rip out all the old carpet and padding and remove all the staples from the bedroom floors.

He had just started hauling it all outside when the large dumpster he’d rented was delivered out front. Another thirty minutes later, he had hauled everything out and dumped it into the thing and had managed not to fall in it.

He had called the hardware store in town and was having Brett deliver the sander in one hour. That meant he had time to start demoing the covered front porch while he waited.

He grabbed his crowbar and sledgehammer and got to work. It took him less time to tear the porch down than it had to remove all the carpet, padding, tack boards, and staples. He’d tossed all the trash in the bin as he worked so there was little cleanup to do once he finished.

Thankfully, there were smaller cement steps under the wood porch someone had built long ago. Those would have to do until he could decide what he wanted to build on the front of the house.

Once he was done out front, he headed into the kitchen, eyeing the ancient countertops like a new challenge. They were a cheap laminate—cracked in one corner and warped from years of spills and heat. He wedged the crowbar under the first edge and leaned into it, grunting as it popped up easily with a loud crack.

Cabinet doors came off next, which was an easy task thanks to his drill. He stacked them neatly until he could haul them outside together, then he unscrewed and pried the cabinet bases free from the walls. Dust and forgotten crumbs rained down from behind them, and he coughed once under his mask, thankful he had purchased the quality filtered type from the hardware store the day before. Who knew what was flying around in all the debris.

He continued this way, hauling all the debris outside, until the kitchen was stripped down to bare walls, electrical wires, and open water pipes, which had all been shut off. Standing there, he could already imagine what it would become. He had drawn some sketches while he’d waited to close on the place, and Faye had contributed some as well after he’d shown her the floor plans he’d gotten from the previous owner.