Page 45 of Goose

I hadn’t told her where I lived. I was sure of it. “I didn’t mention it.”

She lifted her purse over her shoulder. “Someone did. I thought it was you.”

“It wasn’t.”

She shrugged. “Maybe it was Porter.”

It made sense. He could have easily slipped and mentioned coming to my house for a barbeque. “Maybe it was.” I brushed it off as immaterial. “But, that’s not where we’re going. We’re going about ten minutes from here.”

“Okay. I’ll follow you.”

Ten minutes later, we were at the beach house. As we walked toward the steps that led to the roof, she gestured toward the rear entrance, which was on the other side of the house.

“This is awesome,” she said. “Are you going to take me on a tour?”

“Maybe later,” I lied. The development of trust took time. Although I was drawn to Ally, I hadn’t known her long enough to trust her. I was working on it, though. “We’re going to sit on the roof.”

She seemed indifferent. “Okay.”

I led the way up the stairs. She followed me onto the roof, pausing as soon as she reached it.

She took a wide-eyed view of the deck. The westerly wind pinned her thin dress to her hips, giving a detailed outline of her perfect little pussy.

My cock twitched in favor of the sight.

“Did you do this?” she asked.

“Huh?” I shifted my eyes away from her twat. “Do what?”

Slack-jawed, she stared. “All the flowers and stuff?”

I gazed at my accomplishment. A newly-constructed wooden deck gave the once flat roof various levels of depth. Other than a seating area and a walk path, the entire roof was taken up by a potted array of reds, oranges, blues, and yellows.

A sense of pride filled me. “I sure did.”

She looked around. “This is obviously a hobby of yours. One you truly enjoy.”

I carefully grazed one of the California Poppies with my palm. “Not really. It’s more like therapy. It calms me. Keeps my head right.”

The occupants of the roof deck, in their entirety, were reliant upon me for survival. In my absence, they would wither and die. With my care, they would flourish and thrive, providing years of pleasure in return.

Caring for them—from seed to maturity—was therapeutic. In the end, they were an oblation for my sins.

Seeing someone else enjoy my work provided a rare sense of accomplishment.

I gestured to a concrete bench that overlooked the beach. “Have a seat. There’s beer, a bottle of wine, and a few other things in the coolers.”

Side by side, we took a seat on the bench.

She peered beyond the roof, toward the ocean. “I could get used to sitting up here. This is awesome. It’s like the ocean’s yours.”

“This was Ghost’s—Porter’s place. He left it to me in the will.” I looked at her. “You know about his fiancé, right?”

“Uhhm. I don’t know. Maybe.” She opened the cooler and looked inside. “What are you meaning?”

“Well, this place was hers. She left it to him when she died, which was only two months before he died. When he died, he left it to me.”

“I didn’t know all that.” She glanced around. “I’m guessing he knew of your love for flowers and such?”