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She frowns. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t, and it’s fine. They were kind to me, loved me in their own way, I was lucky.” My lips press together and I give her a smile.
“Well, I think it’s beautiful here. I’ve been coming up with Emma for years now, and this lake is one of my favorite places in the world.” Her eyes skip from mine to the window. Can’t say I blame her; I try to look at the lake as often as I can.
“Mine too, but it’s funny, when we were younger I couldn’t wait to get out of here, and now I don’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t,” she states so matter-of-fact. If only it were that simple. I already know I’m here on borrowed time. Given my affiliation with the label, they’ve turned their head for now, but I know at some point business is going to be affected and I can’t let that happen.
“When I was a kid, once a summer my grandfather used to bring me here to fish. Those memories are my favorite from my childhood. He loved it too. The last summer we came up here, I was sitting in the middle of the lake looking out at the houses, and I made a promise to myself and to him that one day I would own one of them.” Fishing with my grandfather is one of the few things from my childhood that I remember. Sure, images filter in and out, but for some reason, most of it seems blocked.
“That’s an interesting perspective, from the inside looking out.” She finishes the sandwich and wipes her hand across her thigh. Damn, forgot to give her a napkin.
“I guess. Why do you love it here so much?” I’m curious to know. Of all the places imaginable, this girl from NYC loves it here.
“When I moved to the city, I really wasn’t in the best frame of mind. Yeah, I had Emma and classes were going well, but I was nervous and meeting new people was really hard. I mean, you’ve known me for three days and I’ve already had two panic attacks and my ridiculous hair trigger sent my knee straight into your groin.” She looks away, embarrassed, and takes a deep breath. “I was so much worse then. Anyway, by October I was a complete mess, but I couldn’t go home, so Emma brought me here. We stayed for a week and it was just what I needed. After that, we came for Thanksgiving, Christmas break, spring break, and most of the following summer. Circling the date on the calendar gave me something to look forward to and it made living just a little bit easier.”
I want to ask her what happened to make her this way, and why she felt she couldn’t go home, but that’s intrusive and none of my business. It’s too soon.
“Well, I’m glad you love it here.” I pick her plate up and drop it in the sink. Looking back at her, the muscles around her eyes are a little droopy. “Tired yet?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah, I am.” She looks around the living room and spots the couch.
“Come on, I think that painkiller has finally kicked in.” Glancing to the clock, I note the time. In fifteen minutes, I’ll pull the meatballs, add the sauce, and let it simmer for a couple of hours on the stove. “We can watch a movie while you lie down.”
“Okay.” She climbs off the stool, and hugs her arm to her chest.
My lips pinch into a thin line; I hate that she’s in pain because of me.
Moving into the living room, she stretches out on the couch, and I throw a blanket over her.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
Squeezing her foot gently, I give her a small smile, and take my place in my leather chair. Grabbing the remote to turn the TV on, my gaze falls to her as she closes her eyes and rolls over onto her side. Tank hops up next her, cuddles down, and both drift off to sleep.
If I had any doubts before, they’re gone.
I want this girl.
I want her to be mine.
Now, I just need to figure out how.
THE SMELL OF coffee lures me out of my bed and I quietly pad toward the kitchen. The house is still and I find it peaceful. I really like it here, and surprisingly—after only a day—I feel at home.
Walking into the kitchen, I find a full pot of fresh coffee, my pain medicine, and a note.
"Good morning. Please make yourself at home. I'll be back by 9, just spending a little time on the lake."
On the lake.
So he's the kayaker that's been out every morning. Of course he is. Even from a distance, I’m drawn to this guy. Slipping out the kitchen door with my warm cup of coffee, I wander to his deck and lean over the edge to see if I can see him. Sure enough, off in the distance, I spot the red kayak.
The picture in front of me is so serene, I’m momentarily stunned by its exquisiteness. Still mist dances against the water as he slices through it. The grace and precision of his movements are mesmerizing to watch. The sun has slowly begun to rise over the mountain peaks, and its light floods the trees on the western side of the lake, bathing them in warmth and gold. In the distance, I hear the call of the purple finch, and my heart clenches. Everything before me is just picturesque, and even given the circumstances, I am so glad to be here.
Ash has been the perfect gentleman and the perfect host. He’s attentive, funny, and kind. Not once yesterday did I have to lift a finger, and this morning, he’s already made the coffee.
I’ve thought several times about our conversation yesterday afternoon in the kitchen. I wanted to ask him more about his grandfather and living with Clay, but that would have broken the rules. Instead, I’m in awe of him and what he’s done. I’m not quite sure what that is, but I admire people who have drive and want to make something of themselves. He said he wanted to leave this place, so he did, and in return, by the looks of this house, he’s doing very well for himself.
