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Hunter climbs out, and Cocoa leaps out his side, barking with joy and racing out into the trees. Hunter doesn’t look alarmed, and sure enough, Cocoa comes bounding back with a stick in her mouth. She sits at my feet, tail wagging wildly.
“Come on,” he says to her. “Give her a chance to see the place first, at least.” He grabs my suitcases out of the back, slings my carry on over his shoulder, and hauls it all up the front steps and unlocks the door.
Damn. He’s strong.
I follow after him, stepping into the sunlit entryway, and stare around.
Before I arrived, I expected the house to be a mess—old food rotting in the refrigerator, carpets thick with mud, dishes piled in the sink. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The place is immaculate. This part of the house has an open ceiling, the full two-stories tall, with several panes of glass in the roof through which I can see the blue sky through the towering pines. It’s so green here, but a different green than Ireland. It’s darker and more rustic.
The furniture in the downstairs living room is sparse but well maintained, the upholstery is in perfect condition, almost as if it’s rarely ever used. I pass a room with glass walls that are set up like a home gym, with a treadmill and some free weights. This room actually looks used.
“Kitchen’s through there,” he says, pointing to an open doorway.
“You must do very well,” I say, looking up at the vaulted ceilings with their beautifully stained exposed beams.
He shrugs modestly. “I suppose,” he says. “Before I moved up here, I was working in an office. Lived in a studio apartment and saved almost every penny I made, so it gave me a good start on buying the land.”
He stares up at the beams as well, though I’m thinking this may be a way to avoid looking at me. I take the opportunity to study him again.
He’s so attractive, far more so than in the picture he sent, where his expression came out more of a grimace than a smile. His natural expression—when he’s not posing for a camera—is soft, peaceful, and content.
“Come on,” he says, and then cringes, as if realizing this is the same tone he uses with Cocoa. “I mean, want to see the upstairs?”
I can’t help but smile. I imagine he’s like that with everyone, and know living up here, he doesn’t have human contact every day, as I did in Dublin. I need to remember not to take offense to it.
I follow him up the stairs and stop at the top and look at my surroundings. The area is just as bright and well cared for as the rest of the house. I follow him as he shows me all the rooms.
“This is my office,” he opens the door and steps aside. It’s got one of the biggest windows in the house. It’s tidy, his phone and computer and all the necessities in perfect order on his desk. There’s a dog bed in the corner, which is more worn than the rest of the house, covered in fur with an indent in the middle where Cocoa must habitually curl.
Hunter opens the door to a bedroom. There’s no television in here either—in fact, I haven’t seen one in the house at all. The room is lit by the large window, and enough furniture to make the room feel lived in. On the bed is a large watercolor quilt in many shades of blue, in a pattern rippling like waves. I’m startled to realize I haven’t seen curtains—or blinds, drapes, or shades—on any of the windows in the house, not even in his bedroom.
“This is my room,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. I’m relieved he didn’t say our room, as I’m not prepared to jump into bed with the man the first day we’ve met. I almost want to laugh at the thought considering I came here hoping to get married to him within the month, so I can’t exactly insist we take it slow. There’s no time for that. But I’m still relieved when he opens a door across the hall.
“This is your room,” he says, dropping my luggage.
The room is bright with a large queen size bed. Across the top lays an intricate patched quilt. Though the headboard is beautiful—more natural wood still in the bending shapes of the original branches. There’s a nightstand and a dresser, but the walls are bare.
“Do you have many guests?” I ask.
He laughs, and it’s a good sound—gentle and warm—and I look up and meet his eyes.
He immediately looks away and shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “Never any guests. But I thought you’d prefer this to nights on the couch, at first anyway.”
I smile, and he looks at me again, sheepishly. Our eyes meet, and there’s a moment where I feel something pass between us, a current that seems to buzz, invisible but undeniably there.
Maybe this plan hasn’t been as crazy as I initially thought.
Hunter clears his throat. “Well, I have some work to do. Help yourself in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Eat anything you like, and if I don’t have what you want, make a list. We can go into town tomorrow and pick up whatever you need.”
He takes a step away, and I stare at the bedroom, not sure what I’m going to do with myself. Panic rises in my throat—he can’t take one day off for my arrival?
I’m not sure if he sees my panic or what, but he seems to change his mind about something and reaches out for my hand, taking it and squeezing it.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says.
Then he ducks into his office, waits for a moment to see if Cocoa will follow, and when she stays with me—looking as bewildered as I am—he closes the door.
