“Why though?” she said. “This is—I don’t expect you tounderstand. This is what I decided I was going to do with my life after you and I broke up. This isn’t anything you promised me.”
Answering that was easy.
“Because I meant everything I said.”
The way her eyes widened, the doubt on her face—that was hard.
8
“So, the bunk room has a hole in the roof the size of a squirrel. Relatedly, it has squirrels,” Tom announced when Rose returned from picking up a sack of burgers for dinner, feeling exhausted and dispirited. “And the bees are still a little worked up on the second floor. But! I found us an awesome place to stay, right across the street.”
He was glowing with his success, his smile conspiratorial and welcoming.
“Those cottages over by the bluffs? Aren’t they pretty expensive?” Rose asked, wishing Tom’s mood would rub off on her.
Seth had texted her the names of three local Realtors.Just in case!The rest of the family had reacted with crying-face emojis to her pictures of the water damage at the inn, but still nobody had committed to coming out to help, even just for the next weekend. Max, who thought she was funny, had sent Rose a link to a beeswax crafts store on Etsy.
“Off-season rates,” Tom said cheerfully. “And insurance should pay for a hotel, I think. At least until the bees are gone.I read the policy.” He made these announcements in a tone that suggested that Rose should be very impressed. “You don’t think it sounds fun to stay at a nice little cottage, get reacquainted, relax, and put on some HGTV?”
Rose put her knuckles over her mouth. In the abstract, that sounded exactly like her idea of fun. But she’d woken up this morning thinking today would go one direction, and it had zigged and zagged so much she wasn’t sure which way was up.
“You’re going to love it,” Tom wheedled. His face had lit up with the pleasure of a small adventure. “It’s got Rosie written all over it.”
The cottages were the kind the island was known for—cedar shingles and white trim, cozy and inviting even with the hydrangeas dormant and the rocking chairs sitting empty on the small porches. Rose had walked by them many times on the way to the bluffs but had never gone in.
Tom led her to one at the very rear of the complex. Pausing to favor her with a devilish grin, he pushed open the unassuming door and flicked on the lights.
Rose gasped, because Tom was right. She adored it.
Most of the vacation homes on Martha’s Vineyard featured a classic nautical style in understated white and navy. WASPy. Boring. But the owner of this cottage had leaned toward a more maximalist aesthetic, with a strong dose of Palm Beach. Rose would never have imagined the interior.
The room was dominated by a magenta chandelier with shell ornaments. The wood floor was painted peony pink, and the appliances and furnishings matched it. Rose-colored toile on the love seats. Blush velvet on the curtains. Fuchsia on theprinted rug. It was like an enveloping hug from a roll of cotton candy. The first pleasant surprise in a long day of shocks.
“You love it, right?” Tom said, lifting his eyebrows at her. When Rose choked on the appropriate words of gratitude, he brushed a kiss to the side of her temple as though she’d managed to say thank you anyway, which didn’t help her find her footing. What was Tom doing? What was happening? Who was this person, and where had he been when she’d needed him ten years ago?
As Rose was specifically thinking this was all too good to be true, she spotted signs that the cottage had been closed up for the winter: open cabinets under the sink in the kitchenette, drawn curtains, a stone-cold water heater. The air was a little stale too.
“How’d you get in touch with the owner?” she asked as Tom busied himself with putting away groceries.
“Just booked it online,” he said cheerfully.
“Huh,” Rose said. “Did they have a lockbox?”
Tom nodded at a window. “Not exactly. But it was unlocked.”
Ah, there it was.
“You broke in?” Rose asked, trying to summon some outrage over the trespassing. It wouldn’t come, probably because she’d been inciting him to arson an hour ago. “Is this a felony?”
“Raise your hand if you’ve never been arrested.” Tom stuck his arm straight up in the air and waved at her.
Rose narrowed her eyes at him. “I was only arrested because you ran faster than me.”
“Yeah, keeping up a good speed is pretty much the primedirective of streaking.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, baby, you’ve still got two strikes left.”
“I wish you knew less about me,” she said, flustered by the mention of a rare college indiscretion. She walked to the window to check whether she could see the road. She couldn’t. So maybe nobody would notice them breaking and entering.
“Anyway, it’s not breaking in if I have a reservation. Why don’t you sit down and eat some food? Here, you want a beer?” he asked, pulling one out of the refrigerator and pressing it into her hand. He found the remote and turned the TV to entertainment news. Rose wasn’t entirely mollified.
