But the new windows were shining in the sun in a way the whole structure looked like a beacon, summoning me to safety.
“Nice ride.”
At these words I turned my head and saw Walt strolling toward the car.
“It all looks fabulous,” I called.
“You haven’t seen nothing yet,” he replied, looking to Kath and dipping his chin to her.
“Walt, this is my sister, Kathy. Kath, this is my contractor, Walt,” I introduced when Walt stopped at Kath.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said.
“Same,” he responded then asked, “Your first time?”
“Yup,” she answered. “I live in Denver.”
“Bet you just rearranged your vacation schedule,” he guessed.
She gave him a big smile. “Yup.”
“Wanna see your home that’s about fifty yards away from home?” Walt asked me.
“Yup,” I replied.
He chuckled then threw out an arm. “Lead the way.”
I led the way, trying not to run. I knew all that was in it, obviously, since I’d chosen it, but I’d eventually asked Walt to stop sending pictures because it was looking so amazing, I didn’t want the surprise reveal of it all together to be spoiled.
When we walked in, I found that was the right call.
Downstairs was bright whites (walls, slouchy furniture and cupboards in the kitchen), gray carpet (living room), parquet floors (everywhere else), bold blue toss pillows, lush but trimmed plants in white pots giving a dose of healthy green, the common areas seemed big, open, breezy and amazing.
The bedrooms and bath upstairs couldn’t be more different.
One bedroom had busy pink, old fashioned wallpaper with a recurring pastoral scene against cream and heavy colonial furniture, gingham and ruffled bedclothes, all of this screaming New England. The other was calm, light grays, taupes, blues and greens with a padded headboard upholstered in a heavy damask of delicate colors, matelassé covers on the bed. The pink bedroom had a chintz armchair and ottoman with a reading light over it and side table stuffed in a corner, the other bedroom had a white loveseat with gray trim and toss pillows in damask matching the headboard against one wall. And the bathroom had a boxed tub jutting out perpendicular to the painted white wood walls and its original cabinetry that was updated with fresh paint in a dusty cornflower blue and white marble countertops with veins of gray.
The downstairs was spacious and contemporary but cheerful and inviting while the upstairs seemed cozy, busy, overfull and warm.
I loved it. Every inch.
Including the veranda with its curvy, ornate wicker furniture painted cerulean blue with crisp seafoam-green pads and matching side tables and ottomans.
Definitely a place you could sit and enjoy a coffee in the morning or sip a wine of an evening, watch the sea and just . . . be.
Oh yes, I could avoid Coert Yeager here.
I could absolutely avoid him here.
I could love every minute of it.
“So?” Walt prompted as I stood on the veranda and stared at the sea.
Slowly, my eyes turned to him.
“It’s perfection,” I whispered.
His face changed after the words came out and he studied my expression.
He was probably my age, maybe a bit older, looked it, weathered and tan, not unattractive, but he was a durable man, a hardworking man, and he showed it, which made him more attractive.
He’d been friendly and entirely professional in every encounter I’d had with him.
But right then, I watched his face soften and his eyes grow warm with pleasure at my approval and concern at what was not his to know, he just knew it was there.
“I . . . our . . . the . . .” Kath stammered, cleared her throat and said quietly, “We lost the patriarch of our family not too long ago. Cady was particularly close to him.”
“Right,” Walt murmured, looking away in a manner I knew he was giving me privacy.
“We’ll just, uh . . . let you get on with it while we get the boxes in,” Kath said.
“You wanna see where we are with the lighthouse?” Walt asked.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Kath answered for me.
“You want me to send some boys down to help with those boxes?” Walt queried.
I finally piped up. “I . . . yes, that’d be nice. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Okay. I’ll get a couple of the boys and I’ll help myself. If you wanna drive your car closer to the studio, I’ll be back with the guys,” Walt said.
“I’ll do that,” I replied.
He jogged off.
I turned to Kath. “We’ll get the things in then go to Wayfarer’s and get something lovely for dinner tonight.”
“Cheese, bread, pâté and lots of wine. You are not cooking tonight and neither am I. We’re enjoying that.” She jerked her head to the view. “Tomorrow, we can break in that kitchen. You said Paige outfitted it with plates and knives and pots and pans and stuff?”
I nodded.
She grinned. “Then we’re set.”
I wanted to see the pots and pans “and stuff” I’d picked for this space.
But I needed to drive the car around so we could move in the boxes and suitcases, which were almost entirely filled with clothes, shoes, books, DVDs, CDs and photo albums and not much else.
“I’ll get the car and we’ll get started,” I declared.
“And I’ll prepare to ogle cute construction guys and I’m calling the pink room.”
She was calling the pink room because she knew I’d go for the damask room.
God, I just loved her.
“Let’s get cracking,” I said.
She clapped her hands and rubbed them together.
I shot her a smile and walked with a spring in my step to my car.
And we got cracking.
The air had a nip to it, a light breeze was flirting through the sky, I had a belly full of cheese, pâté, bread, wine and too many of the selections of mini-cakes the bakery counter at Wayfarer’s sold individually or, in our case, by the dozen.
The boxes were inside.
The construction workers were long gone.
And I was sitting holding a stylish wineglass filled with an exceptional sauvignon blanc, my behind on a crisp, seafoam-green pad in a fabulous wicker chair on my veranda in Maine next to the best friend I’d ever had and the finest woman I’d ever met in my life.
“I talked to Pat about it.”
I looked from the buttercreams and pinks of the sky painted by the setting sun on the horizon behind us to Kath when she spoke.
“About what?” I asked.
She turned her gaze to me. “About this place. He looked into it.”
I was perplexed. “Looked into what?”
“He says you got it for a song. The renovation is steep but would be worth it any way you cut it. He said it would take years to make it profitable, but as luxury rentals, it’d be hugely popular, so that would eventually happen.”
I was no less perplexed.
“Are you saying you want me to rent out the extra spaces so I’ll have company or something?” I asked.
“I’m saying I saw you in town, and you were good here at the lighthouse, great, actually, happy, nearly skipping. But there you were stressed out, tense and looking over your shoulder a lot.”
I drew in breath, turned my eyes back to the sea and sky and took a sip of wine.
“You’re gonna see him,” she said gently.
“I know,” I told the sea.
“And it’s gonna hurt.”
“I know,” I repeated and looked back to her. “But then it’ll hurt less and less and it won’t happen often anyway. And in the end, I’ll have all of this.” I gestured around me with my wineglass.
“What I’m saying is, if you want to come home, we can keep this in the family. We can make a go of it. Once we earn back the investment in a few years, it’ll even turn a profit. The kids absolutely love the place, all of them, and they haven’t even seen it yet. Maybe one day, when they’re making their own way, one of them will—”
“This is my home, Kath,” I stated firmly.
“He had no right to speak to you that way,” she stated far more firmly than me.