I chuckle a little, then say, “Well, I’m glad I’m above him on the list of people you’d hate to be stuck with.”
“You’re way higher than him. Especially after fixing up my wound and carrying me down an entire mountain.”
“It was only halfway down.”
“Still, extremely impressive,” she says. “And kind.”
“Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone. The last thing I need is people thinking I’m nice.” I stare at her again, this time not even bothering to look away like I should. And she’s staring right back. Her eyes dart down to my lips, then she looks away.
We’re both silent for the few minutes it takes me to walk around the bend. As soon as we round the corner, the cottage comes into view. It’s nothing much to look at, but with everything we’ve been through, it’s paradise to me. It’s a small, white house with a red clay roof and a wrap-around porch with a couple of Adirondack chairs on it. A hammock sways between two palms, and a couple of lounge chairs wait in the shade for us. It’s so close to the plane that I almost burst out laughing at the irony. I can tell by the look on her face that she’s thinking the same thing.
I grin at her. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Say what?” she asks innocently, even though there’s a definite twinkle in her eye.
“Say you told me so.”
“I would never,” she answers, trying to suppress a smile. “Only a total jerk would bring up the fact that she suggested taking a quick peek around the corner, but that you insisted on taking a grueling day-long hike instead.”
We exchange a look, then we both start to laugh. When we finish, I say, “So nice of you not to rub it in.”
When we reach the house, I take the two steps up onto the porch, then set her down on one of the two Adirondack chairs, my arms suddenly empty. Taking off the backpack, I set it on the porch near her and knock on the door, even though there is a zero-percent chance someone is here. I peer in the window to see a small kitchen and a living room, but no people.
Paige turns around in her chair and looks inside. “I think you’re right. No one is here.”
She lets out a sigh and chews on her lip.
Hating to see her so disappointed, I say, “There could be a radio inside.”
“Right, yeah,” she answers, trying to smile again. “Fingers crossed. So? Do you think they left a key hidden somewhere?”
“Nope.” I reach for the door handle, turn the knob, and push the door open. “I don’t think they even have a lock.”
“No lock? That’s insane.”
Shrugging, I say, “I never lock my door.”
“Huh. Imagine that. I’m always worried about someone breaking into my apartment,” she says, standing up and hopping to the door.
“Seems like a crime that people have to live that way.” I pick up my backpack and step inside while Paige follows me, using the wall to help prop her up.
I set my bag down on the plank floor. To the right is a small sitting area made up of a wicker love seat with colorful striped cushions, a rectangular wooden coffee table painted white, and a rocking chair. To the left is a tiny kitchen with a dark blue tile countertop and a sink under a small window overlooking the beach. An apartment-sized fridge stands silently next to the cupboards, waiting to be plugged in. A wooden table for two sits in front of awindow facing the sea. The table has been painted aqua blue, and has two metal chairs with orange upholstery tucked under it. I walk down the short hallway opposite the front door to find a storage closet that holds a broom, a dustpan, some towels and linens. Next to the closet is a bathroom with a stand-up shower, a sink, and a toilet, and across the hall is a bedroom with a double bed.
I walk back into the kitchen and find Paige standing in front of the cupboard with her left foot up in the air behind her. “Is there a bathroom?”
I hurry over to her in case she loses her balance. “Yup. There’s even a shower. Only one bedroom though. Kind of a small bed, actually.”
“You didn’t happen to find a phone or a radio, did you?”
“No, sorry. I have a feeling whoever owns this place comes here to completely escape.”
She nods, and I can tell she’s doing her best not to look upset, even though the radio was our last chance at getting the word out to her family that she’s here. “It was a long shot anyway.”
Wanting to pull her in for a long hug, I force myself to keep my hands at my sides. “I know it’s disappointing for you.”
“For you, too.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same for me. I know how badly you want to get word to your family,” I tell her.
