Page 6 of The Guest Cottage

Yeah, he’d be thinking about both for a while.

Now he just needed to get her settled, and then he could call it a night.

* * *

Honest to God, her face felt hot for the entire, too-brief drive to the guest cottage. Why had she assumed Cort Easton would be older? In her mind, the deep, dreamy voice belonged to a guy with reading glasses and graying hair, a retiree renting out property to help make ends meet.

She had not expected a tall, hard-muscled man in his mid-thirties with a stare that could strip a woman bare.

She’d worked for the Heddings family long enough to hold her own with anyone—family, associates, and business adversaries alike—but from the second Mr. Easton introduced himself, she’d lost the power of rational speech.

He had the bearing of a head of state . . . or an old-time warrior. He spoke only when necessary, wore an indecipherable expression, and carried that heavy metal toolbox as if it weighed no more than a basket of flowers.

She hardly noticed the passing scenery, and before she knew it, he was pulling into the short driveway to a house—her house—the incredible little cottage that she’d soon call home.

Suddenly, nothing else existed for her. Heart pounding, she parked next to his truck and stepped out of her SUV in a daze. Oh my, it was even more beautiful than it had looked in the photos. The setting sun was behind them, painting the front of the cottage with a soft golden glow. Three peaks—one over the stoop, another over the main rooms, and a third over the attic—were staggered off center to give the small home more character. Dark olive vertical wood siding paired beautifully with brown shaker shingles and natural stone. Matching the entrance door, double wooden doors at the right would open to a golf garage, and she knew a golf cart was parked inside.

“I love it.” She’d meant to state the words, but instead they emerged as a reverent whisper. Her gaze briefly skipped to Mr. Easton, just long enough to catch what might have been the slight tipping of a smile, there and gone.

“How about I help you carry in your things after I’ve shown you around?”

“That’s not necessary. I can do it.” With renewed purpose, she headed for the front door, anxious to see the interior.

Somehow, he got there before her. He unlocked the door and they stepped into a foyer where the kitchen was visible straight ahead. Glancing to the left, she took in the small dining room, and next to the kitchen was a cozy sitting room.

“Along that back wall, behind the kitchen and sitting room, is the bedroom with a bathroom. From there you’ll find the utility room and a laundry area.”

She bypassed all that to head to the sliding doors all along the wall to the left. From the dining room and the sitting room—and maybe the bedroom, too—she could access a covered porch that had a wonderful view of the lake.

The cottage was so incredible, so perfect, that it overwhelmed her. Getting enough air became impossible, but she would not fall apart in front of her new landlord. No, absolutely not.

To give herself a moment, she went out to the porch, but damn, it was perfect, too. Sinking onto a soft padded chair, she stared blindly at the quickly darkening lake. All her focus was on holding herself together. She clutched her shaking hands together, breathed deeply through her nose, and did her utmost to tamp down the feelings of relief currently swamping her.

She was free of a bad marriage, away from her manipulative in-laws, out of sight of prying eyes. The past no longer mattered. Here, now, was all about her future.

Silently, Mr. Easton slid a paper plate with two slices of pizza onto the small table beside her. He dropped a napkin into her lap, then offered her an open can of Coke, which she automatically accepted. “Be right back.”

She stared at the can in surprise. It was cold in her hand, frosty on the outside, still foaming on the inside. When was the last time she’d drunk from acan? And that pizza . . . Heavenly scents teased her nose and made her stomach growl. She saw melted cheese, pepperoni, sausage, and ham, all perfectly cooked on a golden crust. She took a big drink, gave a quiet burp, then set the can aside and grabbed up the first slice.

Skipping breakfast and only having a protein bar for lunch were clearly not a great idea. As she ate, she watched the surface of the lake and serenity overtook all other emotions. The sun was nearly gone now, and the air cooled even more.

Breathing more easily, she wondered where Mr. Easton had gone. When she heard a soft thump, she knew.

Mortified, she jammed the last of the pizza into her mouth, washed it down with a big drink, and, napkin in hand, headed back through the house.

The front door stood open, giving her a clear view of her Lexus with the hatch open. Mr. Easton took out the last box and started her way.

“I’msosorry,” she rushed to say, stepping out to meet him halfway, looking back and forth from her empty car to the open front door. “I don’t know what came over me. I swear, I didn’t mean for you to—”

“Not a problem.” He went past her as if she weren’t standing there babbling, after eating his food and letting him wait on her.

Groaning, she launched herself after him. “Really, Mr. Easton—”

“May as well call me Cort. Everyone around here is informal.” He went through the kitchen to the bedroom, a room she hadn’t even seen yet, to deposit her last box.

Marlow hurried after him, then drew up short at the sight of all the right boxes placed out of the way against the wall. She’d passed others in the foyer and dining room. To make it easy on herself, she’d marked each box, and clearly he’d paid attention.

“Look around. Take your time. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.” And out the door he went.

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