Page 10 of Meet Me at Sunset Cove

Despite the peeling wallpaper and soot-stained walls, the missing stones around the fireplace, and the heavy wooden mantel hanging at a dangerous angle, ready to fall at any moment, the room was nothing short of spectacular. Daisy could easily imagine it filled with the love and laughter of a large family.

More comments rolled in, the viewers nearing a thousand.

@DreamingDelia: It’s amazing.

@CraftyHome: WOOOW

@Kelsiewiththekids: Needs the Decker touch.

Giving the precarious fireplace a wide birth, Daisy started toward the next doorway to her left. She turned the camera back to face her. “Should we keep going?”

@TheGreeneHouse: Oh. My goodness. YES

@PosieDarling: Pleeeease

She reached for the handle, and her heart jumped into her throat.

It was locked.

“Okay, not a problem.” She retreated the way she’d entered. The crystal doorknob turned, but the door wouldn’t budge.

She was trapped.

* * *

Hunter’s breath came out in foggy huffs as he strode purposefully up the familiar road, his mind playing out the argument he’d have with his dad just as soon as the man picked up his phone. What was he thinking, trying to sell the house?

Hunter’s long strides ate up the pavement as he emerged from the covered tree line onto Sunset Cove.

Ahead of him, the lake spread against the horizon, the blue of the water merging with that of the sky. The family home loomed ahead with its Victorian gables and wraparound porch. The familiar sight usually brought him comfort. Today, it only fueled his anger. The front door hung open. Apparently, the unwelcome party had taken the liberty of going inside.

He wasted no time, tromping across the overgrown lawn and onto the porch. His heavy boots thundered up the steps, toward the open door.

He entered the house and paused, his eyes scanning the dark foyer before a muffled thump caught his attention. It was quickly followed by a frustrated cry. Hunter frowned; his eyes caught the footprints in the thick layer of dust that covered the hardwood floors and followed them toward the parlor. The sound came again, this time accompanied by a voice.

“Hello? Is someone there?” The voice came from the sunroom.

Hunter jogged over, peering through the frosted panes of the glass door. Inside, he could make out a female figure, her hands pressed against the door.

“You all right in there?” Hunter called out, his anger momentarily forgotten at the sound of her voice, the edge of frayed nerves in her words.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Her voice gushed with relief. “The door is jammed. I can’t get it open.”

Hunter let out a sigh. “Hang on.” He knelt to examine the antique doorknob, noting the slight misalignment that had been known to make it stick. “I see the problem…”

“But?”

“I have to step away to get the supplies to fix it.” Hunter brushed his dusty hands off on his pants as he rose. “Will you be okay for a couple more minutes?”

He watched the outline of her shoulders slump and felt a pang of sympathy for her. She hadn’t known what she was getting herself into when she’d stepped into the Barrett house.

“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly.

Hunter nodded, as though she could see it, and turned on his heels. His steel-toed boots thumped against the hardwood floor as he made his way through the maze of a house. He passed back through the sitting room, taking a left at the stairs to the hallway behind them. Memories rushed over him as he entered the old kitchen at the back of the house, memories of his childhood, his brothers laughing as they tracked backyard mud over the tile, his mother swatting a towel after them with a tired smile on her face. Her hand curling protectively around her belly—he pushed the memory aside, turning away as he strode toward the door on the opposite wall.

Morning light washed over him, his eyes squinting against the sun.

The backyard was a jungle. Vines and bushes clawed at the high stone walls around the back side of the property. Weeds nearly as tall as his six-foot frame peppered the expanse of green grass and wildflowers. On the other end of the yard sat an old two-stall stable, which his father had converted to a workshop before Hunter was even born.

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