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Willand Elizabeth were heading back to the Cape by seven o’clock Sunday evening, weaving through the heavy city traffic on their way to the highway. He was focused on driving, but smiled when she lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles.
“I’m trying to figure out Caroline,” she responded when he asked what she was thinking about.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, last night she seemed a little…overbearing, maybe? But then this morning at the farmer’s market, she apologized for the way she behaved, and it felt genuine to me. It’s like she was a totally different person. She seemed pretty down-to-earth.”
He gave a short laugh. “Those are the last words I’d use to describe her.”
“Well, you know her better than I do. I thought she had fun, but part of me wondered if it was an act. I don't know.”
“Maybe she’s turned over a new leaf, but I wouldn’t bet on it. She's the classic case of a leopard not changing its spots.”
“She nearly popped when I told her I thought you were a jerk when I first met you.”
He chuckled. “Obviously, she can see you’ve changed your mind.”
She turned to him and smiled. “How could I not?”
The rest of the drive was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. They talked a little, about their respective work schedules for the upcoming week, but mostly they listened to music, and he wondered if perhaps she’d dozed off.
Last night, as he’d lain in bed, his thoughts had been full of her. She’d looked stunning at dinner, and it had been difficult not to stare—and touch. He loved taking in her expressions when she conversed, and she’d held her own with Caroline, her eyes lighting up as she defended her beloved home.
When she found out that he and Charles had secured four tickets to a Red Sox game Sunday afternoon, she’d squealed with delight. They’d had a great time, though he probably watched her more than he watched the game. She was so animated, so excited to be there. At the end of the eighth inning, with the Sox behind by three runs, she’d pushed her pink hat inside out and put it on backwards—calling it a rally cap—and when he’d glanced at her as she was whooping for the team, cheering them on, he was absolutely captivated.
He wondered if love at first sight was a real thing, then had to laugh. It wasn't love at first sight with either of them, not by a long shot. But looking back, he realized his regard for her began to grow after he’d seen her at Whimsy.
And then at Charles’s cookout… That was the first time he reallysawher. He could no longer think of her as the woman who’d invaded his privacy, but instead, thought of her as just awoman…and he was enthralled. It was entirely too soon to say he’d fallen in love—they still had so much to learn about each other, and he wasn’t in a rush. But something told him he was headed down that path, and for the first time in his life, he felt comfortable—safe—following it.
They arrived at her house just after the sun had set, turning the sky a deep indigo. He carried her bag up the stairs and onto the deck, and as soon as she opened the door, the smell of roses saturated the air.
He grimaced. “Whoa.”
“No kidding. And I left half of them at work. Imagine what my office is going to smell like tomorrow.” She walked around and opened a few windows. “But I'm not complaining. I love them.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Next time I'll keep it to the traditional dozen.”
He looked around, studying her home. The last time he’d been here—or rather, had been inside—was the day she’d developed the pictures, and he hadn’t really looked too closely at anything then, except for some of the photographs.
It was small, but comfortable for one person. The walls were white with beadboard accents, the hardwood floor was a warm honey color, and the couch and overstuffed chair were decorated in a seashell pattern. He poked his head into the small galley kitchen, also all white, with granite countertops the color of sand.
Elizabeth had disappeared into the bedroom, and he went as far as the doorway and leaned against it. He glanced around as she unpacked a few things, surprised to see the walls were painted a beautiful shade of blue. Her bed faced a large picture window and was covered by a plush white comforter and at least half a dozen pillows. In one corner was a blue-and-white striped chair, in another was a tall cheval mirror, and a white antique dresser stood against the wall. The entire place was the quintessential Cape Cod cottage.
“Did you do all this yourself?” he asked, feeling like he’d just walked into a home décor magazine spread.
She nodded. “I picked out the furniture, did all the painting… My father helped with the beadboard, which was kind of tough. It took a while, doing things bit by bit, but I finally have it the way I want it.”
“It’s great. I didn't really notice it the last time I was here.”
“It’s not like we were on the best of terms then.” She smiled. “Funny how things can change so quickly.”
He walked into the bedroom to admire the view from the window, and was surprised to see it was bare. “No curtains?”
“I don't really need them. The beach below us is part of my family's property, so no one is ever there but me. And look at this.”
She closed the bedroom door and turned out the lights. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he noticed the lights of the Vineyard twinkling across the sound, and could see the beam from Nobska Light sweeping across the water. The moon, though not full, provided more light.
