by Diane Moody
“I love the open loft area. It’s like every room in the house has a great view of the water.”
She wandered down the hall, strolling through the rooms and the attached bathrooms. “Your decorators did an amazing job, though something tells me you had a hand in the direction they went.”
“Well, yes. You must be very firm with them, or you’ll end up with bamboo on the walls or stars on the ceiling that glow in the dark.”
She turned around, walking backward as she faced him. “I find it hard to believe the people who did your decorating ever once mentioned bamboo walls or twinkly stars.”
“Then you must have missed the patch of Bermuda grass growing in the master bathroom. They told me it gave the room a ‘spa-like’ ambiance.”
“As if you’d fall for that. You’ll have to dig a little deeper to pull one over on me.”
The tea kettle’s whistle blew, so they headed downstairs. As Trevor tended the tea, Olivia closed the back door after Charlie had come back in. The spaniel gave a good shake, her tail wagging constantly.
“Would you mind giving her a treat? There in that glass canister. I always give her a little reward for waiting to do her business outdoors.”
“Ah, so Daddy has you trained, does he?” Olivia took a miniature milk bone from the large canister.
“Charlie?” he called. “Where are your manners?”
The dog sat back on her haunches then lifted her paws, a goofy grin accompanying the clever trick.
“Well, look at you!” Olivia gave her the treat. “What a smart little mama you are!”
“That’s my girl.”
“Trevor, she’s adorable. And she clearly thinks you hung the moon.”
He handed her a mug, the tea bag label dangling over the rim. “I’d invite you to sit outside, but it’s a bit chilly for that today.”
“Thanks, I’ll take a rain check.” She followed him into the living area.
He pointed her toward the end of the sofa, then sat adjacent in his favorite chair. It felt safer somehow, with the small table cornered between them. He wished he could relax. She wasn’t nearly the chatterbox he’d thought her to be. She’s really quite charming. And genuine. He liked that. He fought the strange beating inside his chest. Different. Frightening. Wonderful.
His face warmed as he remembered their kiss. Not once in all his life had he done something so spontaneous. But he didn’t regret it. Not at all. What pleased him even more was her response.
“So tell me, Trevor. Will you sell me your little cottage next door?”
Chapter 12
By the look on his face, you’d have thought she’d asked him to give her the house free and clear. “It’s a simple question. Why the hesitation?”
“Nothing, I just wouldn’t have thought . . . I mean, I’m just surprised you’d want to—”
“Live next door to you?”
“What? No. It’s not that. It’s just that . . . well, you don’t even know how much I’m asking for it.”
“Oh, that.” She chuckled, crossing one leg over the other. “I guess you’re right. I need to know the asking price so we can start squabbling over it, counter-offering back and forth. Isn’t that how it’s done?”
“Yes, but as I told you, the cottage, the view—it all comes at a rather steep price. Not that it’s too much,” he blurted, raising a hand in defense. “It’s a fair market value, I assure you.”
Olivia laughed again. “Good to know. I’d be bummed to think you were trying to stiff me.”
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, it isn’t that. Surely you know that housing prices up here are substantially higher than those where you come from. And it’s entirely possible . . . well, I might as well just say it. I doubt very seriously that a bank teller from Georgia could afford such real estate.” He paused. “No offense, of course.”
Something in his tone irked her, but she let it slide. “None taken. I think?” She shook her head. “First of all, Trevor, I’m not a bank teller. I’m a loan officer at a bank.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t mean—”
“Second, as much as I’ve enjoyed getting to know you and our, uh, brief exchange over at the cottage, the fact remains you really know very little about me. And that includes my financial status. So I have to say, it’s rather insulting to have you sit there and assume I can’t afford to live in your little cottage next door.”
He released a long sigh, set his mug on the table, and moved to sit beside her. She stiffened. “Well, here I’ve gone and done it again.” Gently, he tucked her under his arm. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. I can’t believe I said something so insensitive.”
“It isn’t that. Well, maybe a little.”
He took her hand in his. “I’m afraid you’re right.”
She looked up into his eyes. “About what?”
“Earlier, you called me a buffoon. Apparently, you were spot-on.”
She chuckled, relaxing a little. “Apparently so.”
He placed a finger beneath her chin, turning her face toward him. “I’m also an idiot, and I’m so sorry you have to keep finding that out. Over and over—”
“—and over and over.”
Their shared laughter felt good. She laid her head against his shoulder.
“What’s even more obvious, I’m sure, is my complete ineptitude when it comes to women. All of this is so . . . awkward to me. I suppose someone my age should be more experienced, but the fact is, in all my years, I just never found someone who … well, someone I was interested in. In that way. And if you must know, I decided a long time ago I’d rather live my life alone than risk all the heartache.”
“Why’s that?”
“All around me, I’ve seen such sadness, such boredom in the lives of my married friends. And family too. Not to mention the rampant infidelity. I grew so tired hearing all of them complain about their spouses ad nauseam. Or worse, hearing them brag about their conquests. And then there was . . .”
She raised her head to face him. “There was what?”
He looked down, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “My brother Evan. He was five years older than me. I think I must have idolized him from the day I was born. But then, everyone loved Evan. He was that kind of guy. Then, while he was at Yale, he fell in love and married a girl from Connecticut. Lelia was beautiful, and from the beginning, it seemed as if she belonged in our family. I finally had a sister.
“Both Evan and Lelia graduated and both practiced law. They seemed to have it all. Everything was perfect, right up until Evan found out she’d been cheating on him from the day they met.”
“What? How—”
“It’s a long story and not worth telling.” Trevor pulled his hand free and raked his fingers through his hair. “When Evan found out, he went off the deep end. And who could blame him? He’d never been much of a drinker, but I suppose he was trying to drown away his sorrows or something. A couple days after he found out, some of his buddies from college invited him to go jet skiing in Boston Harbor. Long story short, he was much too inebriated to be out on the water. He crashed into another jet skier. He was paralyzed from the neck down and suffered brain damage as well.”
“Oh, Trevor. I’m so sorry.”
“The thing is, the brain injury left him aware of his surroundings; cognizant at some level. Meaning, he was aware of his situation but could do little or nothing about it. He felt trapped in a body that would no longer function for him, and it literally drove him mad.
“Our parents had both passed by that time—Dad from a heart attack, Mom from a stroke only a few months later. Aside from some long-lost cousins, I was all the family Evan had left. He refused to come home, demanding to stay there in a facility in Boston. Eventually he quit allowing me to see him, though I kept going for several weeks. But he’d get so violent, I finally quit going, other than an occasional holiday.”
He blinked, as if returning to the present, and loo
ked at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you all this.”
“And why not?”
He stood up, walking to the bank of windows. “It’s all so sad and depressing. I don’t even know why I brought it up.”
She joined him by the windows, pulling his arm over her shoulder and snaking her arm around his waist. “I think you were presenting your case for staying away from any kind of meaningful relationship all these years.”
“I suppose you’re right. Naturally, I blamed Lelia for everything. Regardless, that whole tragedy served as the final straw in my vow to stay unattached.”
“Is Evan still alive?”
He shook his head slowly, looking back out at the water. “No. He died three years ago.”
She said nothing, not wanting to intrude on his painful memories. After several moments, he hugged her closer against his side, resting his head on hers.
“I think I was wrong, Olivia,” he whispered.
“About what?”
He turned, pulling her into his arms. “About love. I was so sure I was better off without all the complications and disappointments and heartache. But then I met you. And suddenly I realize how lonely I’ve been, living behind these stockades I’ve built.”
She looked up into his eyes, searching, waiting.
“And now I find myself completely and utterly smitten.”
Olivia smiled. “Smitten? That’s a good thing, right?”
The tension and sadness in his face disappeared as he slowly nodded. “Yes, that’s a very good thing.” He leaned down and kissed her, pulling her closer still.
In that single moment, she thought her heart would surely rupture with joy. How is that even possible? Wishing away any further questions, she clung to the here and now and the security she felt in Trevor’s arms.
When at last their lips parted, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Olivia?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not quite sure what to do next. In the movies, this is the point where the dashing hero whisks the heroine off her feet and carries her to the bedroom where he makes mad, passionate love to her.” He could hardly speak over his laughter. “But I’m quite sure I’d throw both our backs out if I attempted something so daring.”
She giggled. “I was just thinking the same thing. Can you imagine the two of us trying to explain how both of us ended up in traction?”
His laughter caught in a long wheeze. “We’d never hear the end of it!” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Olivia, as tempting as that might be, rest assured I would never compromise your good character. You have my word.”
She smiled, then touched her lips to his. “I always suspected you were a true gentleman. Now I have proof. And I need you to know I’m perfectly happy to stay right here in your arms.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely. You have my word.”
Chapter 13
Hours later, as the sun began to set, Trevor set up shop in his kitchen, preparing dinner. They’d spent most of the afternoon talking, but he couldn’t bear the thought of taking her back to the MacVicar yet. Insisting she stay for dinner, he put her to work making a fresh spinach salad. The fact that they never stopped talking astounded him. How could two people keep a conversation going hour after hour without running out of things to talk about? Still, there was so much more he wanted to learn about her. He smiled at the notion while sautéing two chicken breasts in a white wine sauce.
“All right, buster. Out with it,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “Why the goofy grin?”
“Nothing really. I suppose I’m amused by the fact I haven’t frightened you away yet.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“We did get off to a rather bumpy start, didn’t we?”
She tilted her head just so with a mischievous smile. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”
He grabbed a handful of the green onions she was chopping and tossed them into the bubbling sauce. “Tell me about your childhood. Have you always lived in Atlanta?”
“I believe so.”
“You don’t know?”
She sprinkled the rest of the chopped onions over their salad. “Only what my parents told me. I was two months old when they adopted me. My mother always told me how deeply my birth mother must have loved me, to give me up so I could have a better life than she could give me. And literally, that’s all I’ve ever known of my birth mother.”
Trevor covered the pan and washed his hands. “Weren’t you curious? Did you ever try to find her?”
She shrugged, taking a seat on the barstool. “Not really. I always felt loved and cherished, and for me, that was enough. I suppose it would have been different if I were older when I was adopted. But Mom and Dad were the only parents I ever knew.”
He dried his hands on the dishtowel and slung it over his shoulder. “Tell me about them. Are they still living?”
She folded her arms, resting them on the countertop. “No, I lost both of them when I was away at college. It was a freak accident, really. They’d gone for a Sunday drive out in the country as they always did. Only this time, as they crested a hill on a two-lane road, a deer ran into the road. Apparently, Dad hit the brakes, but the impact flipped the car into a ditch. They both died instantly.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. That must have been heartbreaking for you.”
She seemed to study their hands, threading his fingers through hers. “It was awful at the time. It took me years to get over losing them; at least to put it in perspective.” She looked up at him. “I know that’s why God sent Ellen into my life.”
“Ellen?”
“Surely I’ve told you about Ellen?”
He lifted her hand and kissed the top of it, then let go to check on the chicken. “Is she your sister?”
“No, but we’re as close as sisters. Ellen was my college roommate, and we’ve been best friends ever since. She has the deepest faith of anyone I’ve ever met. When I lost Mom and Dad, she was there for me. She wrapped me into her family and helped me get through those first days and weeks and months. When she and Brent married and had a family of their own, I became ‘Aunt Olivia’ to her children. They’re my family, in every way that matters.”
He turned down the flame on the chicken and put the lid back on. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She is. I’d love for her to meet you some day.”
“You would?”
Olivia hopped down and grabbed the loaf of French bread from the counter. “Well, sure.” She looked at him like it made all the sense in the world.
“Interesting.”
“And she’s anxious to meet you too.”
He stopped in his tracks. “How does she even—”
“Trevor. She’s my best friend. We talk about everything.” With a silly smile, she shook her head and placed the bread on a cutting board. “Haven’t you ever had a best friend?”
He busily stirred the rice pilaf. “I’ve had plenty of friends. Sure.”
“I’m sure you have, but I mean a best friend. Someone you call up to talk about your day or discuss the latest Red Sox game? Maybe meet for coffee to catch up?”
He plopped the lid back on the rice pan and faced her, hands on hips. “I’m just not that kind of person. I never have been.” He started to say more, then realized the implication of what he’d just said. He pulled the dishtowel from his shoulder and wiped the counter. “Maybe I’m not ‘best friend’ material. And yes, I suppose that makes me quite a risk for this . . . this boyfriend-girlfriend thing.” He twisted the towel. “Oh, never mind. I guess I should have come with a warning label, cautioning you—Loner ahead! Beware!”
She took the towel from his hands and tossed it on the counter. “Come here.” She tugged at his belt loops to draw him close. “Look at me, Trevor.”
He didn’t particularly care for all this transparency. It made him feel like such a fo
ol, baring his pitiful soul to her. He bit the side of his lip and glanced down at her.
“I don’t care if you’ve never had a best friend. I’m sorry you’ve never had the joy of getting to know someone at that level, but it doesn’t make you less of a person. God just wired you different, that’s all. But who knows, maybe I’ll be that person you call up and talk baseball with.”
He shook his head, his eyes still on her. “I doubt it.”
A flicker of disappointment wrinkled her brow. “Oh?”
“I hate baseball.”
“So do I! See? We’ve got more in common than you think!”
He loved the endless depths of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes. Only now did he notice the tiny flecks of gold in her green-hazel eyes.
“Yes, it seems we do.” He fingered the side of her face, tracing it down to her jaw. “And I would be a lucky fellow if it turned out that you were my best friend.” He kissed the tip of her nose.
Her silly grin returned. “Wait, go back to the part about the boyfriend-girlfriend thing.”
“Yes? What about it?”
“I like the sound of that. I like it a lot.”
“Why do I suddenly feel like we’re back in grade school?”
“We should go steady. I could wear your pin.”
“Unfortunately, the only pen I have is a 14-carat gold Cross pen that belonged to my father. I don’t suppose you’d want me to pin that pen on your lapel?”
She glanced down at her dark chocolate turtleneck. “Alas, nary a lapel to be—Trevor! The chicken!”
Thankfully, he was able to salvage the chicken, though much of the sauce had cooked away. They sat side by side at the tall counter, his hand cupped over her knee. Over dinner, they chatted nonstop, covering everything from favorite movies and books and music styles, to childhood memories and historic events and places they’d love to travel.
Later, over a shared pint of ice cream, they shared bucket list dreams.