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I can do this.
Iwantto do this.
Opening the door, Tyler stands tall before me, his broad 6’3” frame casting a shadow over my 5’7” one, making me picture what it would be like for him to be on top of me. His muscular arms braced on either side of my head, bulging with his weight as he hovers above me, his face so close, our breaths mixing – teasing, wanting, needing.
“Hey, sugar.” He smiles. “You look beautiful as always.”
“Thank you,” I croak, swallowing through my dry throat. “You look good,” I tell him, my eyes taking him in from head to toe.
His dimples pop out with his smile, and he rubs his jaw. “Let’s go,” he says, reaching for my hand. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Another one? What is it?”
“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?”
“No, but I still want to know.”
“Patience, Ellie,” he says, guiding me down the stairs to his truck.
“You should probably know now that I don’t have much patience.”
Laughing, he opens the passenger door for me and I hop up inside. “All good things come in time, and I think you’ll like it. Trust me.”
Tyler closes the door before I can respond, and his last two words ring in my head.Trustme.
Trust him? Can I?
We drive for maybe five or ten minutes before he turns off the road onto a long gravel driveway. The late sun casts long shadows through the tall pine trees, and with nothing else in sight, it’s hauntingly beautiful.
I think I know where he’s taking me, and I’m both intrigued and feeling like I’m teetering in the middle of a seesaw – just a little shift in balance will tip me over.
When the trees open up, I’m met with a large, old, beautiful, New England styled home with a wrap around porch that sits right along the edge of the water. I can see it from here.
“Is this your house?” I ask, my wide eyes swinging to his.
“Yeah, it is.” He studies my face, reading my reaction.
“It’s beautiful, Tyler,” I tell him truthfully.
“It’s a work in progress. It needs a fresh coat of paint, some of the porch railings need fixing, and the landscaping needs work. And that’s just the outside.”
“It’s still beautiful,” I tell him, getting out of the truck.
Walking past the house, I go straight for the edge of his property, in awe of his view.
The Atlantic is a vast expanse before me, blue as far as I can see, with small islands out in the distance. The setting sun behind me is casting a golden glow over the breaking tips of the water, and I wish I could swish my hand through it, feeling the colors.
“Can I see inside?” I ask after a minute.
“Sure. That’s where your surprise is anyhow.”
“It is?”
“Yup, come on, sugar.” Taking my hand, we walk across the yard, and up the worn and weathered porch steps that are sagging slightly in the middle from decades of wear.
Unlocking the back French doors, we step inside a living room that’s most definitely under construction. There are drop cloths on the floor, gallons of paint and brushes lying about, and a ladder sits open and upright in the middle of the room with a ceiling fan light fixture on the floor next to it, ready to be installed.
“Just watch your step,” he says gently, guiding me around the room and through to the adjoining kitchen.
