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He was proud of this room—the oak floors and picture windows, the fireplace. There was a large king bed, a desk looking out onto the stunning view of the mountains.
“It said on your website that you built all these homes yourself.”
“With a crew,” he said. “But yes, I was the general contractor and did a lot of the work myself—everything from laying foundations to painting walls.”
She nodded, eyes searching his face for what he didn’t know.
“That must be so satisfying,” she said finally. She walked into the bathroom to put a small bag there. Her body looked strong and lithe; she moved with grace.
“It is,” he said.
Itwassatisfying to build something solid, to put in real effort and have a tangible result. So much effort in life yielded nothing.
Downstairs, he showed her around the kitchen, though he knew they had a chef coming in, where the vacuum was, showed her how to use the hot tub.
When he was done, they stood in the foyer.
“I guess the only other thing is just to be aware of the storm headed our way.”
“I heard,” she said with a frown.
“We do tend to lose phone service and power out here. There’s a generator that will kick on. Should that happen, I’ll swing by if I can. The roads get swamped and can be impassable for a time until the water recedes. What kind of car do you have?”
He knew, but he didn’t want her to know he’d been watching.
“A Tesla,” she said, a wrinkle in her brow. “It’s a looker, but I’m not sure it’s a match for swamped roads.”
“Well, worse comes to worse, I’ll come by in the truck as soon as it’s possible to check on you all. So just stay put. I wouldn’t want anyone getting stuck—or hurt.”
She nodded thoughtfully, looked outside. His GMC pickup—a machine built for hauling, plowing, getting through—was parked at the trailhead down the road. She must be wondering where his vehicle was, but she didn’t ask and he didn’t offer an explanation.
“We’ll do that if the weather turns, stay put. Thank you. For everything.”
She held out a folded bill, but he waved her away. “Happy to help.”
Tipping. People didn’t mean it to be reductive. But it was. He was the owner, not the help. What he did, he did because of a very personal code of hosting.
She slipped the money into the slim pocket of her leggings. He imagined that she’d forget it was there, maybe put it through the wash.
Sometimes, when people were chatty, he told them about the history of the land and the house that used to stand upon it. Some people were intrigued, but others were put off. So he’d stopped sharing the dark history of the place unless a person seemed like a ghost story around the campfire type.
Liza did not seem like that type of person. Liza seemed sensitive, tense, someone who took things seriously. She was rubbing at her temples again.
“This place,” she said, as if reading his mind. “It has an energy.”
He’d searched her online after she made the deposit and quickly discovered her Instagram, her YouTube. Yoga teacher and meditation instructor.
“Good or bad?” he asked with a smile.
She seemed to consider. “Unsettled,” she said finally.
“I imagine after the fire is roaring and you’ve had a glass of wine, you’ll all settle right in.”
She nodded, folded her arms around her middle. “I’m sure you’re right.”
He handed her a card, even though he knew she had his number. Sometimes it was just easier to have a piece of paper lying around so that any of the guests could call.
“Call for any reason, anytime,” he said. She took the card and gave him a smile.
