There’s a large separate house on the property, with clean, modern lines and massive windows. So that’s hishouse. That makes more sense. A guy with as much money as Tate Ward would not live in a little cottage.
“You live in the middle of the woods?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “We have plumbing, though.”
It’s so quiet, except for the sound of the birds. It reminds me of the summer house my mom would take me to on the Gulf Islands. “It’s beautiful. Very isolated.”
My eyes go to the cove again and an overwhelming pang of longing hits me square in the chest.
“That’s why I like it,” he says.
“No one can hear me scream,” I mutter, and I hear that stifled laugh of his. That recurring ping of his approval goes off in my chest, and I look away. “I should get going.”
“About that.” He puts a hand on the doorframe, seemingly unaffected by the cold air moving into the guesthouse and freezing my toes. “Your stuff will be delivered later today.”
My stuff. Off to the side, my records sit on the floor. Tate must have brought them in last night. I don’t know why I didn’t think to bring anything else with me.
Maybe because the records and the record player are all that matter. Still, I need clothes for work. I need shoes and shirts and underwear?—
“And the rest will be taken care of.”
“Taken care of?” What does that mean?
“I can give you a tour of the house later, if you like.” He gestures to the larger house behind him, not answering my question.
I shake my head. “No need.”
Something about being in his personal space seems dangerous. I’ll want to study every book, photo, and spoon for more hints about him.
Besides, I’ll be out of here the second my things arrive.
“What if you need something from the house?” he asks, amusement in his eyes. “We don’t have cell service out here, andthe Wi-Fi cuts out all the time. What if you need to call Dr. Greene?”
“No cell service?”
“We’re pretty far up the inlet.” His eyes start twinkling. Now his mouth is tipping up. He’s teasing me again. “Maybe you’ll get lonely and want some company.”
Something twists behind my heart. “I don’t get lonely.”
His brows rise. “Never?”
“Never. I love being alone.”
Am I lying? I have a sudden flash of last night in his car, telling him about my mom.
Why did I do that? Now I’ve shown him one of my weak spots.
“Alright, well, there’s tea and coffee in the kitchen.” He nudges his chin into the guesthouse behind me. “Nothing in that fridge, because I didn’t know you were coming, but there’s food in the main house.” His smile is five percent wicked, almost enough to be considered a smirk. “Not that you’re going to come inside the house. Be careful out here at night,” he says, gesturing to the property. “I disabled the motion sensor lights because the animals set them off every hour.”
“What animals?”
“Raccoons. Cats. Coyotes. Bears. Cougars.”
“Bears?Cougars?”
“They’re black bears,” he says like he’s talking about a harmless fruit fly, not an animal that could rip my face off. “Make some noise and they’ll run off. Cougars, though.” He winces but his eyes do that annoying, amused glinting thing. “I wouldnotwant to run into a cougar. There’s a family of them who hang out back here.”
“Uh. What?”
