Because of course she was going to stay on thelighthouseside of the cottage.
To her right was the “common area”—a kitchen and living room space decorated with more of the hideous mangled metal lamps that someone clearly thought were artwork, for the rest of the place was furnished in what she thought of as 1980s “blue goose” decor. Beyond the common area, to the right, was a short hallway down which she suspected was another bedroom suite. No one else was staying here, norwouldanyone else be here.
She’d told the booking agent she didn’t even need the daily housekeeping.
Because Teddy didn’t need any distractions. She needed to be alone. She needed to be a monk, locked in her tower—in this case, represented quite accurately by the lighthouse accommodations—like a prisoner in her cell so she could figure outand writethe rest of her damned book.
“Well,” she said aloud to herself—as she had a habit of doing. “Guess I’ll check things out inside, get the lay of the land, unpack. I can take some time to unpack,” Teddy said, as if Harriet might be lurking about, judging her for hanging up her sundresses and finding a place for her underthings, three pairs of sandals, two swimsuits, and all the rest.
Of course she’d overpacked. That had been part of the procrastination, and the indecision that paralyzed her for the last nine months. It wasn’t as if she’d be wearing anything besides sundresses, shorts, or yoga pants and a tank top for the next month.
She felt sick to her stomach. Weeks.I’ve only got four weeks. Ihaveto finish this.
She’d just rolled her suitcase through the curve-topped door and was opening the door into the bedroom, which had a view of the lake and butted up to the covered porch, when her burner phone rang. She was half surprised she even got service out here, to be honest.
She fumbled with the phone—it was smaller and lighter and not at all familiar, compared to the larger smartphone she had back home—and managed to answer it by the fourth ring. “Hi, Harriet.”
“Are you there? Are you settled?” Her agent’s nasally New York tone was businesslike, yet Teddy detected a hint of concern. “Is it nice? Do you have everything you need?”
“I literally just walked in the door, but so far it seems nice. It’s not really new,” Teddy said, looking around at the eighties Berber carpeting and the plain white walls decorated with framed photographs of more lighthouses. “But other than these really awful metal lamps that look like mutant spiders with mirrored eyes, it’s kind of cute.”
A queen-sized bed was made up with a neat quilt and four pillows (two in shams)—all in a pretty blue and yellow floral theme. There was a desk against the wall near a large window overlooking the lake. Bonus.
“Best of all, it’s clean. My cousin told me no one has lived here for several years, though obviously someone keeps it up. Or, at least, they did a good job cleaning it for me,” Teddy said. “The lighthouse is pretty much abandoned; it doesn’t illuminate anymore. No one runs it.”
“That’s nice,” Harriet said briskly, clearly not caring in the least. “Well, I’m glad you’re there and settled. I’ll tell Erin. She’ll be pleased to know.”
Erin was Teddy’s editor, nervous about the book coming in—and rightly so.
“What did you say?” Teddy asked, as Harriet’s voice disappeared into a crackle of static. “Hello?” She moved closer to the window, hoping to improve the reception.
“I said, there’s no Wi-Fi there, right? Can you hear me now?”
“Yes, you’re back. And no Wi-Fi to my knowledge. Like I said, no one has lived here for years, according to Declan. But it just occurred to me—what if I need to do some research?” Teddy realized she sounded a smidge whiny, but after all, she was going cold turkey here. No Internet was pretty significant.
“You’ll go to the library.” Harriet’s voice crackled again, but was still discernible. “Are you there?”
Teddy walked back to the window as she replied, “Yes, I’m here. And I don’t have a car here, remember?”
“Have your cousin drive you. And hey—isn’t he the blacksmith who does all that restoration work? The hot ginger who visited you in New York?”
“I guess you could call him hot,” Teddy said, gripping the windowsill so she wouldn’t forget and wander again, putting their connection in jeopardy. “I mean, most women think he’s hot. Dec’s just my cousin, so, you know, meh. I remember him when he was scrawny and his hair was a lot brighter. Now it’s more of a mahogany than a Weasley-like ginger. Besides, he’s too young for you, Harriet—and he’s got a serious girlfriend.”
“Didn’t you write a book about a sexy blacksmith?” her agent asked. “A long time ago?”
“What? Can’t hear you…I’d better unpack and get to work,” Teddy said breezily. “And since you asked, no, I won’t starve, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere without a car or Wi-Fi or anything. And I’ve got food deliveries arranged for every other day.” Plus, Declan was picking her up to have dinner tonight in Wicks Hollow. But she wasn’t going to tell Harriet that.
“Good. You’ll need to keep your strength up. All right, I’ll check in with you in a couple of days. Cheers!”
Teddy unpacked quickly then left her room to explore the remainder of the cottage. The whole place was small and efficient, with a kitchen area that merged into the living room, the two tiny bedrooms down a short hallway, and a smaller bathroom. No television either, so she couldn’t even try to watch a DVD.
Her phone rang. “Hey, Dec.”
“You here? All settled?”
“Yes. Thanks. Are you still able to pick me up for dinner?”
“Of course. That’s why I’m calling. Leslie and I will be coming back from Grand Rapids. We can swing by and pick you up around six. That’s about an hour.”
