Someone You Love by Kristen Granata
Charly
If you walked in on your boyfriend having sex with another woman, what would you do?
I’ve seen it in movies countless times. The main character catches her man in a compromising position, and she bursts in on him to interrupt the scandalous moment. Maybe she yells. Maybe she throws his clothes at him. Maybe she demands he leave or explain himself. There’s almost always tears.
But I didn’t do any of those things.
I laughed.
“You laughed?” Jenny’s eyebrows hit her hairline at the same time her palm slaps the tabletop. “What the hell, Char?”
I blow out a long stream of air through my lips, and push my fingers through my blonde strands. “I don’t know what came over me. I just saw them there on his kitchen table, and I started laughing.”
She rubs her temples. “You’re so awkward.”
I throw up my hands. “I can’t help it that I laugh in uncomfortable situations. But watching my boyfriend jackhammer his co-worker bare-assed on the kitchen table definitely qualifies.”
Jenny curls her top lip. “He really likes that move, doesn’t he?”
I nod. I almost felt bad for the woman he was screwing. She could’ve been faking it—Lord knows I’ve faked it with Greg—but she looked like she was enjoying it.
There’s a lid for every pot, they say.
Jenny folds her arms over her chest. “What did the cheating bastard have to say for himself when you confronted him?”
I chew my bottom lip. “I didn’t.”
Her voice erupts like an explosion. “What?”
“Shh!” I slump further down into the booth, my eyes darting to the nearby tables. “Don’t make a scene.”
“You should be the one making a scene.” Jenny leans forward, lowering her voice to a whisper-yell. “You caught Greg with some skank, and you said nothing?”
I pop a nonchalant shoulder. “Brenda’s not a skank. She’s one of his co-workers I actually liked.”
Jenny blinks. “Are you having a mental breakdown? Is that what’s happening right now?”
I rest my elbow on the table, and prop up my chin with my hand. “I don’t know how to explain it. I ... I don’t feel angry with Greg. Sure, it hurt seeing the act of his betrayal, but I can’t say I blame him. I’ve been preoccupied, and I haven’t given him much attention. I get it.”
“Oh, don’t you dare give me that bullshit speech.” Jenny stabs the air with her index finger. “You don’t deserve to get cheated on just because you’re mourning the loss of your mother. That’s on him. He’s the asshole in this scenario. Don’t take the blame.”
“I’m not saying I deserve to get cheated on.” I lift a packet of Equal, and flick it. “But I can understand why this happened.”
I spent years taking care of Mom while she fought cancer and underwent countless hours of chemo. I don’t resent it. I’d have done it for the rest of my life if I knew it would’ve kept her alive. Hell, I would’ve traded places with her. But caring for a sick family member wears on you. I hated admitting that for a long time, but my therapist helped me to learn it’s okay to feel that way. I felt fulfilled and empty at the same time—happy to help my mother, but lonely within myself. I centered my life around trying to help my mother get better. I became obsessed—codependency, my therapist called it—and at the end of each day, I was mentally exhausted. I didn’t have the energy to nurture my relationship with Greg like I should’ve. I’ve been a shell of the person I was when we first met. So, I know why Greg did what he did. He’s in the wrong, but I’m not innocent.
“Your mother had cancer, Char. You’re grieving. You lost the most important person in your life.”
“And I neglected my boyfriend because of that. I neglected everything.” My voice breaks. “I just wanted her to get better. I thought she’d make it through this, and everything would be okay again. I thought I had more time.”
Jenny’s hand slides across the table, and covers mine. “I know it’s going to be difficult without her. But you can do it. It’ll take time. Now you can focus on getting your life back.”
“I don’t know where to start.” I put everything I had into taking care of Mom. Now I’m twenty-five, and all I have left to take care of is myself. It’s terrifying.
Jenny squeezes my hand. “Start with the bucket list.”
I pull out the paper from my purse, and smooth it on the table. “How am I supposed to finish this without her?”
“It’s what she wanted.”
I’m hit with the memory of Mom’s cold, frail hand on my tear-stained cheek the night she passed. “Go on an adventure. Experience life outside this city. Try new things, and meet new people. I want you to live your life to the fullest, Charly.”
Last year, Mom’s breast cancer metastasized. She’d battled it for so long, beating it each time it came back. But this time, her body was too tired to win the war. We all have shelf-lives. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. When it’s your time, it’s your time. It’s easier to handle a certainty like that when you have no clue when your number will be called. Once you’re given a timeframe though, everything changes. You’re a timer set to self-destruct, and the ticking gets louder with each passing day. That’s when I created a bucket list of silly things to do with Mom before she died. At the time, it was a happy distraction to get our minds off of the inevitable ending. Now, it only serves as a reminder of all the things Mom will never get to do. A reminder of a life cut too short.
My eyes trail down the list. “I should’ve cancelled the reservation at the bed and breakfast in Maine, but I haven’t had the nerve.”
“Don’t cancel it.” Jenny points to the fourth item on the list: Spend the summer in a new town. “Get out of here, and spend some time on your own. Enjoy the time away. Regroup. Then, you’ll feel refreshed when you come back.”
Getting away does sound enticing. Everything here reminds me of Mom.
An unexpected laugh bubbles out of me. “Mom wasn’t a fan of Greg. I bet she’s happy he’s out of my life.”
She never said it—she’d never want to sway me one way or another. But I always knew she didn’t like him. There wasn’t much with Mom that I didn’t inherently know.
“Besides laughing like a freak, what did you do when you caught him with Brenda?”
I grimace. “I said I was sorry, and then I got the hell out of there.”
“You apologized?” Jenny shakes her head. “What am I going to do with you?”
My phone lights up for the third time since I left Greg’s apartment. I watch it dance across the table as it vibrates. “I don’t know what to say to him.”
“I can think of a few things.”
Santiago, the owner of the diner, stops by our booth. “Jen, table four is ready for the check.” He turns to me. “You can’t stay away, even on your one night off. I thought you were going to spend your birthday with Greg.”
Oh, yeah. Did I mention my boyfriend cheated on me on my birthday?
“Greg was busy spending the night with someone else.” Jenny slides out of the booth, and scurries away before I can kick her.
Santiago takes her seat, and laces his fingers on the table. “What’s she talking about, mija?”
I stare down at the red lacquer tabletop. “Greg is cheating on me with his co-worker. I caught them in his apartment.”
“Qué cabrón.” His broad chest expands with his inhale. “I’m sorry, chiquita. Want me to kill him?”
I chuckle. “It’s okay. Really, Santi. Our relationship has been over for a while now.”
He leans forward, and covers both of my hands with his. “It’s his loss.”
“I don’t know about that.” I give him a sheepish smile. “I haven’t exactly been the best company lately.”
“You’ve been through a lot. A real man would understand that.”
“Maybe. I take responsibility for my part though. People don’t stray unless there’s a reason.”
“You’re too young to be this old.” Santiago’s eyes flick to Mom’s bucket list. “What’s next on the list?”
I tap the paper with my index finger. “Jenny thinks I should still go to Maine.”
“Your mother would be happy to see you go.” He scans the paper, and his eyes well. “It’s still hard to believe she’s gone.”
Santiago loved Mom, though he’s never admitted it. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at her. He’d light up like she was the best thing he’d ever seen. I think she felt the same, but she didn’t allow herself to get close enough to anyone because of the cancer. It broke my heart knowing she purposely pushed love aside because she knew she wouldn’t be alive for it to last.
I bite my bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Well, don’t let us sway your decision. You know Jenny can step in as manager while you’re gone, and I’m hiring an extra waitress for the summer regardless.” He gives my hand a squeeze. You need a break. Take care of yourself. This place will still be here when you come back. ¿Entiendes?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jenny struts back over to our booth. “Table two didn’t leave a tip. What’s wrong with people?”
I glance at the line forming by the door. “It’s busy tonight. I can jump in and take a few tables.”
“No.” Santiago’s tone warns me not to argue.
“You’re not working on your birthday.” Jenny tugs my elbow until I’m standing. “You’re going to call Greg back, and give him a piece of your mind. Better yet, give him a piece of my mind—it’ll be meaner. Then you’re going to crawl into bed with a pint of Mint Chocolate Chip, and watch Bridesmaids.”
And I do exactly that—minus the part where I talk to Greg.
I’ll worry about him in the morning.
When I’m under the covers and Kristen Wiig is on the screen, I scoop a spoonful of Mint Chocolate Chip into my mouth, and try to focus on the movie. But Mom’s last words echo in my mind. “You will not cancel that trip. I know I can’t be there with you, and I’m sorry about that. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go. I can’t leave you knowing that you’ll be wasting away at that diner every day. I want you to live a happy, fulfilled life. I want you to experience the same joy you’ve brought me all these years. I want you to do the things I won’t be able to do. Please, Charly. Do this for me.”
I pull my MacBook onto my lap, and type the name of the bed and breakfast into the browser. When Mom and I planned this trip last September, we didn’t want to be too far from her doctors, yet far enough out of Manhattan to feel like a vacation. As soon as I spotted Sunnyside Inn, the picturesque bed and breakfast in Bar Harbor, Maine, my heart whispered,That’s the one.I think something inside me wanted to take the nameSunnysideliterally.
At just over seven hours away from home, the quaint Victorian cottage called to me through my laptop screen. Wicker furniture lines the porch with slow-spinning fans overhead—the perfect spot to sit and watch the rain fall, or listen to the leaves rustling in the warm breeze. It’s vastly different from the loud, bustling city building I’ve grown up in. It’s the perfect place to escape from reality.
It’s late, so instead of calling the front desk, I tap out an e-mail to the owner:
To: [email protected]
Re: Johnson Reservation
Dear Mrs. Holden,
My name is Charlene Johnson, and I have a room booked at your inn next month. I’m supposed to be coming with my mother, but she recently passed away. I was going to cancel the trip altogether, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep my reservation. I won’t be needing two beds, so if you have a smaller room with a single bed available, that’d be great.
Thank You,
Charly
A few minutes later, my laptop dings with a new e-mail:
To: [email protected]
Re: Johnson Reservation
Dear Charly,
I’m very sorry for your loss. We don’t have any vacancies at the moment, so you can keep the original room you booked. If anything becomes available before then, I’ll make the switch for you.
Sunnyside is the perfect place to heal. You’ll enjoy your stay here.
See you next month.
B.
My stomach sours at the thought of staying in a room with an empty bed meant for my mother. But if I want to do this, I’ll have to deal. Sunnyside is the perfect place to heal. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.
After the movie ends, and I’ve polished off most of the ice cream, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I groan, expecting it to be Greg again, but Jenny’s name lights up the screen.
I sit up and scoot back against the headboard. “Hey. How was work?”
“Work was work. Buzz me up.”
I fling the comforter off my legs, and scurry to the intercom by the door. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”
“Did you really think I was going to let my best friend spend her birthday alone?” She hangs up, and a minute later she jogs up the stairs with a large pink gift bag dangling from her finger. “Plus, I have to give you your present.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.” I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“I know you don’t feel like celebrating this year.” Jenny leads me to the couch, and places the bag in front of me. “But your mother wanted you to have this.”
Hot tears prick my eyes. “Mom planned this?”
Jenny nods. “She told me to hold onto it in case she wasn’t here to give it to you herself.”
A sob escapes me. “She should still be here. She had more time.”
“I know. It’s not fair.” Jenny sniffles, and nudges my leg. “Open it.”
I reach into the tissue paper, and pull out a yellow quilted duffle bag from Vera Bradley with a card dangling from the strap that reads, For your trip to Maine. Inside the duffle is a matching journal, and on the first page Mom wrote, This will help you savor all the fun memories you’re going to make. Remember, I’m with you always.
I smile as a tear rolls down my cheek. “I e-mailed the owner of the inn to confirm my trip.”
“That’s great.”
“She was very sweet. The About the Owner section of the website said that her husband of fifty years passed away due to a heart attack, so she decided to open her large estate to the public as a bed and breakfast to quell her loneliness.”
“Sounds like you two have something in common.” Jenny scrunches her nose. “Bed and breakfasts are so weird. I can’t imagine sharing my house with strangers.”
My eyes roam over the two-bedroom apartment I used to share with Mom. “It’s hard being alone when you’re used to living with someone who isn’t here anymore.”
Jenny sighs. “I’m sorry, Char.”
I blink away more tears as they threaten to brim over. “I want you to manage the diner while I’m gone.”
“Of course. You know I’ll hold down the fort.”
I smooth my hand over the duffle, making a mental checklist of the things I need to do before I leave.
Jenny props her elbows on her knees. “What did Greg say when you called him?”
I close my eyes, and let my head fall back against the couch. “I didn’t call him. I’m not ready to talk about everything yet.”
“Fine.”
“Thanks for being such a good friend.”
“Always.”
Jenny sticks a candle in my half-eaten ice cream, and sings off-key. We polish off the rest of the container, and then I shuffle into the bathroom to wash up for bed. Mom’s purple toothbrush still sits beside mine in the holder. I haven’t gotten rid of her belongings yet.
I promised Mom I would go on the trip because I didn’t want to spend our last moments together arguing. I didn’t think I’d actually go through with it. But staying here without her feels harder. It’s like someone cut her out of a photograph, and every time I look at it, all I can see is the gaping space she once filled.
Maybe some time away will help me move on.
<script data-cfasync="false" src="/cdn-cgi/scripts/5c5dd728/cloudflare-static/email-decode.min.js"></script>Charly
“I miss you already. Why did you have to go so far away?”
One corner of my mouth tilts upward, despite the clench of my gut. “You know why.”
“I know, I know. I get it. But I don’t have to like it.”
“It feels weird being here alone.” Without Mom.
“I wish I could’ve come with you. I worry about you being up there all by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s one of those small towns where everyone knows each other.”
“Which means they’ll cover up a murder for each other.” Jenny huffs out a breath. “I’ve seen those movies.”
“You’ve seentoo manymovies.”
A loud crash sounds in the background, followed by Jenny’s loud groan. “You have to be kidding me.”
I grin, envisioning the mess of soft drinks and ice cubes scattered on the floor in the middle of the diner. “Stu dropped the tray again, didn’t he?”
“This is all your fault, you know. Stu wouldn’t be waiting tables if you hadn’t left for an entire summer.”
Guilt churns in my stomach. “I’m sorry, Jen.”
“Don’t be. I’m totally kidding. Go get your groove back, Stella.”
I grimace and lift my face up toward the clear blue sky. “What if I don’t have any groove to get back? What if—”
“Nope. No way. Stop it right now. There are no what-ifs in life. There’s onlytake anddo. You’re doing this for your mom, so go make her proud. You got this.”
Tears prick my eyes as emotion lodges in my throat. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“That’s what I’m here for, babe.” Another crash sounds in the background. “Hate to cut you short, but I gotta go.”
“Please don’t yell at Stu. He’s trying his best.”
“Well, his version ofhis bestneeds some work. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
I slip my phone into the back pocket of my frayed denim shorts. Poor Stu was the best waiter we could find on such short notice. Well, he wasn’t the best waiter, but his schedule worked the best for what we needed.
My fingers tighten around the handle of my black suitcase as I stare up at the yellow sign in front of me: Welcome to Sunnyside Inn.
I dig into my duffle bag, and pull out Mom’s bucket list.
Things to Do
1. Ride a bike through Central Park
2. Volunteer at an animal shelter
3. Get makeovers at Macy’s
4. Spend the summer in a new town
5. Go camping
6. Try a new food
7. Take salsa lessons
8. Get matching tattoos
9. Ride a jet ski
10. Go to a Taylor Swift concert
11. Stay up all night and watch the sunrise
We could’ve made the list longer but we weren’t sure how much we’d be able to accomplish, especially since Mom’s health declined faster than we anticipated. All that mattered in the end was spending time together, regardless of what we were doing.
“Well, Mom, I’m here. We can cross off number four.” I blink away the tears, and stuff the list back into the bag.
“Are you going to come inside, or what?” a raspy female voice says from the porch. “You’ve been standing in the same spot since the cab drove off.”The woman uses a leopard-print cane to steady herself as she descends the ramp leading off the porch. With a silver bouffant hairdo, a string of pearls around her neck, and a sleeveless cream shift dress hanging from her thin frame, she carries herself with an air of confidence and elegance.
I let out a sheepish laugh. “I’m sorry. I was just admiring the grounds. It’s even more beautiful in person than it was in the pictures on the website.”
“Everything’s better in real life than it is from behind a computer screen, my dear.” She smiles wide, and her crystal-blue eyes sparkle. “You must be Charlene.”
I roll my suitcase beside me along the path. “You can call me Charly. Are you Mrs. Holden?”
“The one and only.” She waves a dramatic hand over her head. "But you can call me Bea.”
Beatrice Holden is the owner of the inn who I’ve been corresponding with. Her sweet words wrapped around me like a comforting hug when we spoke. Or maybe the prospect of her maternal companionship felt like it could temporarily fill the Mom-shaped hole in my heart.
I reach my hand out in front of me as I approach the porch. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I can’t thank you enough for accommodating me for the summer.”
She slips her wrinkled, perfectly manicured hand into mine, and gives it a firm shake. “The pleasure is mine. How was your ride up here? You’re from New York, yes?”
I nod, hauling my suitcase behind me up the wooden ramp. “Yes, born and raised in Manhattan. The train ride went by quickly. I had a good book to pass the time.”
She waves me along, and climbs back up the wooden ramp. “You’re a reader. That’s fantastic. You’ll love our library.”
Excitement spikes through my veins, just as it did when I saw the library listed under the list of amenities on the website.
Beatrice reaches the top, and taps the toe of one of her cream pumps with her cane. “They’ll bury me in these shoes, you know. I’ve always said that a good pair of heels makes a woman feel like she can take on the world.”
I glance down at my canvas slip-ons. “Mine are made for taking on the busy streets of Manhattan.”
She clicks her tongue as she swings open the creaky wooden door. “I’ll have to take you into the village one of these days. We can shop ‘til we drop. Legs like yours deserve to be accentuated with a stunning pair of heels.”
“You’d get along with my mother. She always dressed to impress, even if she was only going to the farmer’s market on the corner.”
Sadness washes over her expression. “I’m sorry you lost her so soon, dear.”
Me too. I brush it off, not about to spend this trip wallowing in grief. “Thank you.”
Beatrice gives my forearm a squeeze, and steps inside. “It’ll be nice to have another female around. My grandson is a bit of a stick in the mud.”
“I heard that,” a deep voice retorts.
“I meant you to, my boy.”
My head snaps to theboyBeatrice referred to as her grandson, and my stomach does a somersault.
Thick, dark-brown hair falls around his face in a disheveled heap, the matted strands meeting his overgrown five o’clock shadow. Sable eyes peer out from under furrowed brows the way a jungle cat watches its prey while camouflaged in the grass. I swallow as my gaze falls to his broad shoulders wrapped in a tight white T-shirt, covered in what looks like streaks of dirt. With his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps bulge and the ropy muscles in his forearms dance under his olive skin.
Beatrice’s grandson is no boy—this unkempt mountain of a man towers over me by almost a foot. But instead of welcoming me like his friendly grandmother, as most would do when faced with a newcomer—especially a paying newcomer—his unwavering scowl remains, like it’s been permanently carved into stone.
A shiver dances down my spine.
“This is Charly,” Beatrice says to her grandson as she makes her way behind the desk.
I drop my bags, and extend my hand over the counter. “Nice to meet you. I’ll be staying here for the summer.”
He looks at my hand like it’s a hissing snake. “There’s a problem with your room.”
Beatrice whacks him in the leg with her cane. “Where are your manners, you brute? Shake the lovely girl’s hand.”
I pull back my hand, and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Is my room not ready yet?”
Beatrice purses her lips, and glares at her grandson before she turns to me. “There’s been a slight hiccup with the room you originally selected. We had a thunderstorm last night, and one of the boughs on the tree outside your room broke through the window, and part of the wall.”
I gasp. “Oh, no. You can just put me in another room. I don’t mind.”
“The problem is that the repairs will take a few weeks, and we’re at capacity here. But I’ve made room for you in the private guest house out back.” She winks. “I think you’ll love it.”
I wring my hands. “A private guest house? Are you sure that’s okay?”
Her grandson mutters something under his breath, but Beatrice cups my shoulder. “Absolutely. This is our issue, not yours. We promised you a room, and we’re going to deliver.”
I fish my wallet out of my purse, and slide my credit card across the smooth wood. Without a word, Beatrice’s grandson picks up my card, and turns around to insert it into the card reader.
This guy really shouldn’t be the one to greet people behind the desk. I wonder if he scares away any of the customers. But if Beatrice is in charge, and her grandson works here, then that makes him in charge as well. And judging by his attitude, it seems we’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot. How, I have no idea, since I’ve only just arrived. But I’m good at reading people, and Mr. Grumpy Pants is ticked off about something.
Beatrice hands me my card and receipt. “Now let’s get you settled so you can unpack. Tonight, you can have dinner with me, and tell me all about your life in the Big Apple. Bryce is on kitchen duty.”
“Is Bryce your chef?”
“No, dear.” Beatrice gives her grandson’s blocky shoulder a squeeze. “This is Bryce.” Then she smacks his leg with her cane again. “You’d know that if he’d introduced himself properly.”
“Ow!” He rubs his thigh, but a glint of amusement flickers in his coal eyes. “Would you stop hitting me with that thing? It’s not a weapon.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing.
Beatrice winks at me. “I’ve got a spare in my closet if you want one.” She rounds the corner of the desk, and holds out her elbow for me to take. “Come on. Bryce will grab your bags.”
I hold up my palm. “Oh, no. He doesn’t have to do that.”
Bryce moves around the desk using a sleek black cane, and the wood floor creaks under his heavy steps. He slings my duffle bag over his shoulder, and tugs the handle of my suitcase.
“I can carry my own bags,” I say to his back, because he continues walking right out the front door.
And they say chivalry is dead.
Beatrice offers me a knowing smile. “He’ll grow on you.”
“Like weeds?”
She tosses her head back and cackles. “Something like that.”
I follow Beatrice back outside, and gaze at the vibrant pink rose bushes as we walk along the path leading toward the back of the inn. The sun warms my skin, and birds tweet their beautiful songs overhead in the tall oak trees. My shoulders relax, my nerves slowly easing out of me.
“You’ll love it back here.” Beatrice points her cane. “It’s quieter, and more peaceful.”
“Thank you. I truly appreciate your hospitality.”
“This place has healing powers. Wouldn’t you say so, Bryce?”
He grunts in what I assume is agreement several feet ahead of us, retreating from any and all conversation with me. Not that I mind. I have the perfect view from back here. His low-slung jeans wrap around the muscular globes of his rear end, and strain around his tree trunk thighs.He’s a real-life Jason Momoa—minus the charming personality.
Beatrice gives me the rundown. “Breakfast is served at eight every morning, lunch at noon, and dinner at five. Some days, I cook. Other days, it’s Bryce.”
“I’d love to help. I’ve worked at the diner in my neighborhood since I was sixteen, and became the manager a few years ago.” I let out a humorless laugh. “I’m a little nervous letting go of the reins for two-and-a-half months.”
“I might take you up on your offer,” Beatrice says. “We get busy in the summer. But not tonight. You should relax on your first night here.”
I’m about to respond when my breath leaves me on a gasp as I spot the large Grecian pool spanning the yard with lounge chairs and palm trees surrounding it. “I didn’t realize you had a pool.”
“We finally fixed it up last year. We haven’t gotten around to taking pictures and updating the website yet.”
The water sparkles like diamonds reflecting off the sun, and my body hums as I imagine slipping into its cool depths.
“Are there places to swim in the city?” she asks.
“I’ve only been to the indoor pool at my gym.” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s nothing like this.”
Beatrice guides me around the perimeter of the pool toward the guest house.
My lips part as my eyes land on a smaller but no less beautiful version of the inn, complete with the matching porch. “This is your guest house?”
“It used to be a rundown shed, but Bryce helped add on to it, and turned it into a beautiful oasis. He’s quite handy.”
“It’s beautiful, Bryce.” I gesture to the bench swing swaying in the breeze on the porch. “I love the swing.”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “Me too.”
Oh. He mustreallylove that swing if he’s not responding in grunts.
Bryce pushes a key into the doorknob, and the hinges creak as the wooden door swings open. He sets my bags down on the porch, and turns to help his grandmother up the ramp.
She swats at his hand. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Really wish you’d wear more practical shoes.”
Beatrice lifts her chin. “Really wish you’d stop making a fuss over me.”
“Wouldn’t have to if you didn’t insist on walking around in high heels after your hip replacement.”
I smile. Their relationship is endearing. You can tell how much they care about each other, despite their bickering. Nothing but adoration emits from Bryce’s eyes when he’s looking at his grandmother. She softens his harsh glower.
Before Bryce can pick up my luggage again, I grab them and stride past him into my new living quarters, eager to see the inside.
“Make yourself at home,” he mutters.
I spin around, and tilt my head to look him square in the eyes. “Says the man who wouldn’t even shake my hand when we met. I wasn’t exactly expecting you to be a proper host and give me a tour.”
Beatrice cackles from outside. “She’s not wrong, my boy.”
Bryce’s scowl remains intact, but I don’t miss the tick in his cheek, like he might’ve almost smirked at my retort.
Does he even know how to smile? I can’t imagine it on that rugged face of his.
As fun as our little staring contest is, I break first, and walk further into the house. Butterflies flutter in my stomach at the sight of the bay window with a collection of puffy yellow pillows waiting for me to curl up against. It’s the perfect reading nook that I will most definitely be using.
The open-floor plan allows me to do a 360 and take in the small eat-in kitchen that faces the living room. I roll the suitcase across the rustic floorboards and into the hallway, scoping out the decent-sized bathroom. I nearly squeal over the large, immaculate bathtub with water jets.
I shall soak in you every night until my fingertips resemble raisins.
At the end of the narrow hallway, two doors sit caddy-corner, one door open, and one closed.I peek my head into the open room. The bedspread is a bold white with yellow peonies all over it, and the room is filled with touches of yellow to match. The window casts a generous amount of sunlight into the room. It’s small but simple, and I love it.
Beatrice’s heels clack into the room behind me. “I’d ask if everything is to your liking, but the look on your face tells me everything I need to know.”
My smile stretches until my cheeks hurt. “It’s perfect.”
“There’s one more thing I’m afraid I have to tell you.” She taps the closed door in the hall with her cane. “This is Bryce’s room.”
My mouth flaps open. “He’s staying here? With me?”
The floorboards groan as Bryce steps into the narrow hallway with us. “You’re staying here. With me.”
My eyes bounce between Beatrice and her grandson. “This is your place?”
“Yes. You’ll be staying in the spare room until I’m able to fix the room you were supposed to be in at the inn.”
My stomach twists. Living with a strange man I just met was not on the bucket list.
“Is this all right with you?” Beatrice asks. “It’ll only be for a few weeks, and then you can move your things to the inn.”
My mind races.
Is this safe?
Should I get my money back, and find a hotel?
What would Mom do?
“If you’re uncomfortable with this, dear, you can take my room, and I can—”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t want to put you out.”
Beatrice could’ve very well told me that there’s no place for me after my room was damaged in the storm. I could be looking for another place to stay, or going back home. I’m grateful for this option.
And for Bryce allowing me to stay with him.
I look into his intense dark eyes. “Thank you for opening your home to me.”
He nods once, and then looks down at his shoes.
That explains his bad mood.
Beatrice places her palm against my cheek. “I’d never put you in harm’s way.” She leans in, but doesn’t lower her voice. “I know he seems like a rude lug, and, well, I guess he is, but he wouldn’t harm a single hair on your head.”
Bryce throws up his hand. “Gee, thanks.”
Beatrice winks at him, and swings her gaze back to me. “This place will heal you, Charly. You’ll see. Just give it a chance. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Then she turns and shuffles toward the door.
Bryce and I stand in the tight hallway until Beatrice disappears out of the bungalow.
I speak first, needing to fill the silence. “I’m so sorry that I’m encroaching on your personal space like this.”
“It’s fine.”
“No wonder you were less than thrilled to meet me.” I lift my hand and let it fall, smacking against my thigh. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Don’t have much of a choice when it comes to Beatrice Holden. You’ll learn that quickly.”
“I’m starting to.” I force a laugh, attempting to release some of the tension between us, but he doesn’t smile with me.
“We should lay down some ground rules.” Bryce turns and heads for the kitchen.
My head cocks to the side as I follow him. “Ground rules?”
He stands at the small island, and nods matter-of-factly. “This is my home you’ll be living in for the next couple of weeks.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sure you have plenty of that’s my chair, or we’re only watching ESPN preferences. My ex liked to be in control of the remote, so I know how you men can be.” I try to laugh again, but it comes out too high-pitched. My cheeks burn, yet that doesn’t stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. “Though I don’t see a TV in here, so I guess that won’t be a problem. I don’t really watch much TV anyway. My best friend, Jenny, is obsessed with The Bachelor. I refuse to watch it with her. A bunch of women fawning over a guy just because he’s rich and handsome? No thank you. I don’t know why any woman in her right mind would like that show.”
Bryce’s eyebrows dip down, like he isn’t sure if I’m in my right mind.
To be honest, I’m not sure at the moment either.
My anxious stomach twists into another knot. Say something! Think of some more rules.
My eyes fall to his broad shoulders, then down his sculpted arms, continuing south in a slow perusal of his body. I can’t believe I’m living with this enormous beast of a man. An attractive man. Not that it matters what he looks like. I’m living with a stranger regardless of his appearance. But his body is ...
My eyes snap up to his. “Do you sleep naked? Because that’s gonna be a problem.”
Bryce sputters. “How is my sleep attire any concern of yours?”
“I only saw one bathroom. If I wander out of bed in the middle of the night, I need to know I won’t bump into any of your manly swinging parts in the hallway.”
“Manly swinging parts?”
“Speaking of naked, are you dating anyone?”
His chin jerks back. “Again, none of your business.”
“Hmm. Well, if you plan on bringing women back to the house, just let me know and I’ll make myself scarce.”
“There won’t be any women coming back to the house.”
“Oh, men then?”
“No!” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?”
I shrug. “Just trying to cover all the bases so I don’t make you uncomfortable in your own home.”
“Too late.”
I grimace. “I’m sorry. I don’t do well with awkward situations like this.”
“Just stay out of my room, and we’ll be fine.” His jaw clenches, and he looks off to the left. “And you can’t bring anyone back here either. I don’t want anyone in my house.”
I nod. “I won’t. That’s not why I’m here.” Sadness tips the corners of my mouth. “I was supposed to come here with my mother, you know. We planned the trip after she was told she’d only have a year left to live. But she didn’t make it past seven months. I came here for her.”
The skin around his eyes tightens. “I’m sorry.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep my mouth from opening, and oversharing the grim details of my mother’s death. I’ve rambled enough for one day.
But I don’t have to worry about saying anything more, because Bryce turns around and walks right out of his house as if we’re done with the conversation.
Living together will be ... interesting.