Page 139 of Take This Heart
I think about it all the way to Minneapolis.
That night, the bed is too big without her.
My penthouse has never been what I’d call cozy, but now it feels cold and sterile. The sheets don’t smell like Goldie’sshampoo, and she’s not curled against my side, her leg draped over my thigh.
I glower at the ceiling, arm heavy over my forehead, and sigh.
Who knew one night apart could suck this bad?
I check the time on my phone. 10:40 p.m. I should’ve called her an hour ago, but my meetings went late. I do it anyway.
“Hey, Mildie,” she answers, her voice like honey.
My chest loosens and I grin into my dark room. “Hey, Golo. You sound good. You in bed?”
“Yes, missing you.”
“Same. Guilty.”
Her voice is soft. “Are you still coming home tomorrow?”
I shift on the bed. “Yes, and it can’t be soon enough. Without you here, everything feels both too loud and too empty. I’m missing my home…which is where you are.”
“Milo,” she says sweetly. “I know what you mean. It’s been the longest day here without you.” Her voice drifts.
I wait until her breathing evens out, and I lie there for a few minutes, listening to her breathe and thinking about how hard she works before I hang up.
Frankly, I’m shocked that she’s not thrilled to have a night to herself. She’s gotta be exhausted.
The pavilion is finally done. It isstunning. I’m proud of how it turned out, but I’ve gotten the most joy watching Goldie fall in love with it.
I’m happy that the pavilion will be more her baby. Because even after endless days of wrangling contractors, finalizing herb garden placements, and hanging mirrorsjust soin the restaurant bathrooms, or any other list of never-ending projects she has to do, she climbs into bed beside me like I’m the one she’s been waiting for all day.
I can’t wait to build her art studio, a mini replica of the pavilion, that can be all hers.
The restaurant opens next week. When Goldie’s not racing around putting the final touches on the restaurant with Camden, she’s working on the area surrounding the pavilion. Tully has worked alongside her, building a winding brick pathway, and she’s planted an array of bushes, perennials, and bulbs that will be magnificent next spring. She has a bottomless well of energy that is addictive to watch, and it’s impossible to not be inspired by her.
I get back to Windy Harbor the next evening around seven. The air is crisp today. Yesterday was eighty degrees and today it’s fifty. You never know if you’ll have summer or fall or even winter this time of year. All I want to do is find Goldie.
When I find her, she’s crouched by the edge of the dock…talking to an otter.
I blink a few times, thinking sleep deprivation may have broken me, but nope.
It’s still there.
Goldie’s in frayed jeans and a thick orange sweater, her work boots damp. She carefully moves to sit, her feet dangling off the dock, as she chatters in a singsong voice to the sleek creature floating on its back.
I walk toward her quietly, hoping I don’t scare the otter off, but he just blinks up at me like I’m interrupting their moment.
I know, buddy, I want her all to myself too.
She turns and beams when she sees me. “Yay! You’re back! I would be hugging you so hard right now…I just don’t want Orion to swim off without you meeting him.”
“Orion?”
“Yes! Remember I told you about the otter who alwayscomes through? He’s early this year.” She makes space on the dock for me and I carefully sit down. “I usually don’t see him until the winter, but he showed up this morning and we’ve been chatting for at least twenty minutes. Isn’t he adorable?”
“I don’t know why I didn’t believe that he actually came to see you. I should’ve. Look at you. I’d want a sighting of you if I was an otter too.”
