Page 51 of The Spotted Cottage By the Sea
She picked up her pace and peered around the back of the house, the side that faced the ocean. Both floors had wide, open windows reflecting the sun and sea, and there was a stone patio with comfortable-looking furniture and a fire pit. It looked like a nice place to roast marshmallows and look at the sea.
“Hey there.”
Sheila jumped. Russell was standing on the back patio dressed in a green and black flannel shirt, a mug in his hand.
“Hi!” She waved. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to creep around. I just wove through the little forest and popped out here.”
“I know what you’re doing.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re sizing me up as a client. Seeing how far of a ride you can take me on.”
She shrugged. “Guilty.”
“The joke’s on you. I’m going to tell you all my financial secrets anyway.” He smiled. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”
The wind picked up and she dug her hands into her pockets. “Sure.”
Sheila carefully made her way down the rocky bluff and followed Russell inside, closing the doors behind her and shutting out the wind. Inside, she breathed in the warmth, the smell of coffee and fresh bread filling the air.
“These just came out of the oven ten minutes ago.” He waved a hand over the baking tray on the kitchen island lined with buttery croissants. “Full disclosure: I bought them frozen. So they’d be, you know, good. Unlike if I tried to make them.”
As tempting as they smelled, Sheila declined. “Patty doesn’t let me leave the house until I consume at least a thousand calories. I’m still full, but thank you.”
The kitchen and living room were one large, open space, with the couch facing the windows and a large kitchen island behind it. The cabinets were rich, stained wood with copper pulls, and the countertop was glossy butcher block.
“Your house is beautiful,” she said, running her hand over the kitchen island.
“Thank you. I did a lot to it before I moved in. Not me, I mean – you’ve seen my work – but a company I hired. They’re good. They could help at the cottage.”
He poured coffee into a white and terracotta mug and handed it to her.
She accepted it, glad to warm her hands. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“It’s a shame I couldn’t do more myself.” He stood with his hands on his hips, looking around. “I thought I would learn woodworking at some point. Spontaneously, you know? Like it would come along with the beard.”
Sheila let out atsk. “I hate it when beards don’t live up to the special powers they promised.”
“Me too.”
The wall nearest to her was covered in pictures. She walked over, expecting to see Russell with his celebrity friends, or hundreds of shots of wolves, but instead there were pictures of a boy and a girl playing in the snow, then at the beach, then standing, arms crossed, with Big Ben behind them.
“Is this Lucas and Mia?” she asked.
He stepped up next to her. “Yeah. Mia told me I was ruining her decorating by putting up these pictures, but I love them.”
“Is she an interior decorator?” Sheila looked around again, her eyes lingering on all the little details – the red rug, the ombre fuzzy blanket casually draped over the couch.
He shook his head. “No, but she’s very good. She chose the furniture, the paint, the design of the beams here.” He pointed at the wooden beams above their heads. “This was all her. I just paid.”
“She did an excellent job.”
“I agree. But again, I feel that you’re really not understanding how bad I am with money. I handed my credit card to my twenty-three-year-old daughter.”
Sheila laughed. If only he knew how bad she was with money. “I guess I’m finally going to find out.”
He grinned. “My office is upstairs. I think I managed to gather all my papers. Might be missing some assets. I’m not sure.”
Missing some assets? What a rich person problem. “Let’s check it out.”
He led the way up the stairs and Sheila followed. She couldn’t help but admire him – his broad shoulders, the muscles of his arms underneath his flannel shirt. His neck…
