For a minute, I simply sob softly. At some point, I catch Edward’s hand in my peripheral vision offering me a handkerchief. I snatch the cloth and dry my eyes. The fabric smells expensive with an understated masculine scent. I mutter an incoherent thank-you before blowing my nose.
Why, oh why did my first good cry in years have to be in front ofhim?
I take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. I’m calming down. I lift my head high, trying to regain my dignity, and swivel back around.
“So sorry, I have no idea what came over me. I’m normally not much of a crier.” I give him a watery smile. “But I never, ever expected this. I love my home, and I was certain...” My voice cracks. “I thought I was going to lose it.”
Edward nods solemnly. His kind eyes hold mine with true sympathy.
“You won’t. I promise.”
“And here I thought you were the enemy.” He flinches slightly. I suppose that was rude of me. I ramble on, “I need to warn you that we’re overbooked. We had to do something unorthodox to provide you accommodation. I hope you don’t mind staying in our cottage. Apparently, my mom knows your mom from years ago. She didn’t think she’d mind. But if that doesn’t work, I could always find you a room at another hotel.”
“No, no, I’d love to stay at your place!”
My cheeks heat, which makes no sense. I know what he means by that comment. But the more I try not to blush, the more my cheeks flame.
“Are you certain it’s not too much trouble?” Edward asks, probably misreading my crimson face. “I could always drive back to the city. I came on such short notice.”
“No, no problem at all. Your room is all ready. Though I should warn you, you won’t have your own bathroom.”
“I can probably manage sharing a bathroom,” he says with a wry smile.
“That puts you ahead of half our guests. At least once a week someone yells at me about having to use a community bathroom. I don’t know how to make that detail any more clearwhen booking. We mention itthreetimes.”
“That sounds unpleasant. How do you deal with angry customers?”
“I nod and listen. When they seem about finished, I offer them a cookie and thank them for the feedback. Sometimes I ask them to do me a favor and take another look at our reservations page to let me know how we could make it clearer for future guests that the cottages don’t have attached bathrooms. They usually apologize to me the next day, and I give them another cookie.”
“Whatever my mom is paying you, it isn’t enough.” He beams at me with so much earnest admiration that I have to look away.
“Thanks.” I restore the tin of cookies to the shelf before turning back to Edward. “So do you want to review the books?”
“Nah... maybe later. If I recall, the cottage is on the upper end of the property?”
“It is—do you remember seeing it on your visit last fall?”
Edward fidgets in his seat. “It’s only fair to tell you that I’ve actually been here before.”
“Yes, of course, when we met on the hillside.”
“No, I mean years ago. I spent a summer here when I was a little kid.”
“Really? Then we might have met.”
“We did—we were friends... or at least I thought so.” He reaches his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Not sure if you’d remember me. I went by Eddie back then. You must have played with hundreds of kids growing up here. But I never forgot you, Ellie.”
Hearing my childhood nickname pulls me back through time. Ellie was my little kid name. When I started middle school, I told everyone to call me Elinor. Back then I was in such a rush to grow up. By high school the only person whostill called me by my pet name was my dad. After his death, no one ever called me Ellie—not even my sister. I consider telling Edward that I don’t go by Ellie anymore, but itisnice to hear that name again. It gives me the safe, cosseted feeling of my very happy childhood.
“I was only here one summer,” he continues, “but we played every day. It was the best.”
I study Edward’s face, trying to picture him as a boy. His hair would have been blonder. I’m reminded of a boy with golden curls.... Could he be the same one?
We had promptly forgotten his real name after Annie gave him the nickname “The Boy.” That’s what the March sisters called Laurie inLittle Women, a book our family read that summer. And just like Laurie, our Boy lived with his grandpa. Annie and I were always making friends with children staying at the campground. But The Boy was our favorite. He was so simpatico, and excellent at knots and lashing, which came in handy when building forts. Inspired by the book, we used an old, abandoned mailbox to swap notes, trinkets, and treats.
Annie and I were disappointed when the boy with the thoughtful eyes didn’t show up the next summer. To console me, Annie took to telling stories of The Boy’s adventures.This summer he’s working on his cousin’s ranch in Texas. This summer he’s hiking in the Alps. This summer he’s sailing the world.He was always traveling the world since we were not. He became a sort of mythical inside joke between us. Whenever we tried on a new outfit, we would ask the other, “Do you think The Boy would like it?” He was a standard pick for husband whenever we played MASH. We have both been predicted to marry The Boy ten times over.
And here he is, all grown up. A stranger that has lived in my head for years. He’s right—this is weird. So very weird.
