“Okay!” two voices chorused back, then their footsteps and laughter faded down the hallway.
Silence fell. Isabella and Christopher stood alone in the living room. She put her purse down on the entry table, and he watched her take a breath, like she was steadying herself. She closed the front door and turned the lock.
“Kitchen’s this way,” she said, leading him through the living room.
Christopher followed, taking in the open-concept space. The kitchen flowed into a small dining area on one side. The kitchen itself had been updated but retained the cottage’s charm. White cabinets and butcher-block counters that showed years of loving use. Large glass doors led to the deck he’d seen from outside, and beyond that, he could see the ocean. Moonlight played across the waves, creating shifting patterns of silver and shadow.
A dining table was positioned to take full advantage of the view, with four chairs arranged around it. The whole space felt cozy and intimate in the best possible way.
“This is awesome,” Christopher said, walking farther into the room and looking around with genuine appreciation. He pointed to the glass doors. “May I?”
Isabella smiled as she began preparing something at the counter. “Of course.”
Christopher opened the door and stepped out onto the deck. The space was more generous than it had looked from the driveway, wrapping around the side of the cottage to maximize the ocean view. White railings enclosed the space, and weathered gray boards lay beneath his feet. String lights were hung overhead, currently off but promising an ambiance when lit. A small outdoor table sat with two chairs, and he noticed an empty space where small scraps in the wood showed that something once belonged there.
Despite being an outdoor space, it was decorated for Christmas. Small potted evergreens with lights sat in the corners, and garland wrapped around the railing. The view of the ocean was breathtaking, and the constant sound of the waves was incredibly soothing.
Isabella stepped out onto the deck and stood beside him. Christopher’s pulse did crazy things at her proximity. He could smell her perfume mixed with the salt air, something floral and warm that made him wantto lean closer.
“This is my peaceful place,” Isabella said softly, looking out at the ocean. She rubbed her arms against the cool breeze coming off the water.
“I can see why,” Christopher said, noticing her shiver. He had to quell the urge to put his arms around her and pull her close. Instead, he slipped off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders before she could object.
Their hands brushed as she reached up to hold the lapels, and that familiar electricity sparked between them. Both of them felt it. He saw her breath catch, saw the way her eyes widened slightly.
“My grandmother had two rocking chairs that need fixing,” Isabella said, gesturing to the empty space he’d noticed. “They used to sit out here. Jack has them at the inn and promised to restore them when he has a chance.” She glanced around the deck with obvious affection. “This deck is great in the summer. Sitting out here in the evenings, sipping iced tea, watching the sunset.”
“You make it sound so relaxing,” Christopher said, and before he could stop himself, added, “I might just move in.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but the words hung in the air between them, and he realized how much truth they carried. It would be amazing. Spending every day with her, evenings on this deck watching the ocean, building something real and lasting.
The thought should have terrified him. He’d spent his entire adult life avoiding exactly this kind of permanence. But withIsabella, standing on her grandmother’s deck with the ocean whispering against the shore, it didn’t feel frightening at all.
“Oh, the chocolate!” Isabella said suddenly, turning and rushing back inside.
Christopher took a moment before following, looking out at the waves and trying to settle his pulse, to calm the thoughts racing through his head. What was this woman doing to him? He’d known her less than forty-eight hours, and he was already imagining futures he’d never let himself want before.
He turned to follow her inside, pulling the door closed behind him. As he did, a picture flashed through his mind. Isabella jumped and spun with a knife in her hand that morning, fear stark on her face. Her jumpiness. The way she’d been startled by every unexpected sound.
Christopher locked the door and tested it to make sure it was secure before crossing to take a seat at the kitchen counter.
Isabella placed a steaming mug in front of him, and Christopher smiled at the presentation. This wasn’t just hot chocolate. It was complete with a candy cane, whipped cream, bright sprinkles, and a cinnamon stick. A work of art.
“This looks amazing,” he said.
She smiled, clearly pleased, heading toward the glass door and testing the lock before walking back into the kitchen. “My grandmother’s recipe. Everything I make is her recipe that I’ve just updated or added to a little.” Isabella pickedup a tray with two more elaborately decorated mugs. “Excuse me, I must just take these to the girls.”
She disappeared down the hallway, and Christopher heard the girls’ excited squeals, followed by Isabella’s laugh. The sounds were warm and domestic, and they made something in his chest tighten almost painfully.
This. This was what he’d been missing without even knowing it. Not just companionship or attraction, but this sense of home and family and belonging. Of being part of something bigger than himself. As his parents were never around, Christopher tended to veer away from domesticity. Although the Bennetts had treated him like a son, it still stung that his own parents put their careers first, leaving his upbringing to friends. His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a phone. He glanced down and saw Isabella’s mobile phone on the counter where she’d left it.
Christopher glanced at it instinctively. The screen showed an unlisted number. Not his business. He looked away, focusing on his hot chocolate.
The phone went to voicemail. A few seconds later, a message notification flashed on the screen.
From his angle at the counter, Christopher could see the preview of the message. He tried not to read it, but the words registered automatically before he could look away.
Beautiful babe, you’d better not be trying to block me again. I warned you about the consequences of that. P.S. I see you managed to get home safely!!! Who’s the Boy Scout?
