Page 39 of Once Upon A Second Chance
Richard rounds the truck bed to grab our bags, his shirt stretching across his shoulders as he hefts them effortlessly.
"Keys?" I ask.
He pats his pockets, frowns,then produces them from the cup holder with a sheepish grin. "Forgot I already had them."
"Still a disaster, I see."
"Your disaster," he shoots back, tossing me the keys.
The porch creaks underfoot as I approach the door, the sound oddly comforting. The key turns smoothly in the lock, revealing an open-concept space bathed in the warm glow of fading daylight.
Inside, a massive stone fireplace dominates one wall, surrounded by overstuffed leather couches and a well-loved wool rug.
To the right, a small but tidy kitchen features a gas stove, a farmhouse sink, and—surprisingly—a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter. I pause for a second. Who stocked this?
A spiral staircase winds up to a loft, where two bedroom doors stand slightly ajar, inviting and quiet.
Richard drops the bags just inside the threshold and takes a long look around. “Home sweethome.”
I wander further in, running my fingers along the rough-hewn dining table. "Your 'med school buddy' has good taste."
"He's an orthopedic surgeon now. Married a decorator."
Richard moves to the fridge, pulling out two beers. "Apparently she 'doesn't trust him to pick out a throw pillow.'"
I snort, accepting the bottle he offers. "Smart woman."
The label is local—some microbrew from Chattanooga. The first sip is crisp and citrusy, perfect for the end of a long day.
Richard watches me over the rim of his bottle. "So. Tour?"
The larger of the two spaces, with a wrought-iron bed and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the mountain vista. A private balcony juts out over the tree line.
Richard leans against the doorframe. "This one's mine."
I raise an eyebrow. "Because you called dibs?"
"Because it has the better view." His gaze doesn't leave mine.
Heat creeps up my neck. I take another swig of beer.
"Show me the rest."
Cozy but bright, with a quilt-covered twin bed and a stack of well-worn paperbacks on the nightstand. The window looks out on a cluster of birch trees, their leaves fluttering in the evening breeze.
I set my beer on the dresser. "This is perfect."
Richard hums, stepping closer. "You sure you don't want the master?"
"Positive."
"Not even if I promise to stay on my side?"
I turn to face him, finding him closer than expected. The fading light catches the flecks of gold in his eyes, the stubble along his jaw. The air between us crackles.
"Tempting," I murmur. "But rules are rules."
He sighs dramatically. "Worth a shot."
