Page 38 of The Man in the Cottage

"You don't even know him."

"I know you. And I know you wouldn't be doing this if he wasn't worth it."

I stand on the porch and wave until their cars disappear down the driveway, and then I'm alone.

Well. Not completely alone.

I look toward the cottage. Still quiet. I haven't seen Travis all day, which is probably intentional. He's giving me space. Or he's nervous. Or both.

The house feels too big without my friends in it. I wander from room to room, straightening things that don't need straightening, picking up glasses and putting them in the dishwasher. The string lights Travis hung are still up in the living room, casting everything in a warm glow. The coat rack he built stands by the door, solid and sturdy.

He's everywhere in this house. In all the things he fixed, all the spaces he touched. I didn't notice it before, but now I can't stop seeing it.

I try to write, but I can't focus. Every few minutes I check the time, watching it crawl toward seven. The words on my laptop screen blur together, and I keep losing track of where I am in the scene. Eventually I give up and close the document.

I take a shower instead. Let the hot water run over me until my skin turns pink. I think about Travis in the cottage, maybe doing the same thing, maybe just as nervous as I am. We kissed last night. We really kissed. And tonight we're going on a date, like normal people, like this is something that could actually work.

Is it something that could actually work?

I don't know. I don't know anything except that when I'm with him, I feel like a better version of myself. More grounded. More present. Like everything that was chaotic and uncertain has finally started to settle into place.

I dry my hair and put on the outfit my friends picked out. The black top is softer than I remembered, falling just right against my shoulders. The jeans fit perfectly. I add the boots and the leather jacket and stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if I look like someone who belongs on a date with Travis Howe.

I don't know who that person is supposed to be. I only know who I am—Kelly Dawson, former marketing drone, aspiring thriller writer, woman who inherited a house and found a man hiding in the backyard. That's going to have to be enough.

At six-thirty, my phone buzzes.

Travis: Still on for tonight?

I smile at the screen. He's nervous. I can tell from the question, from the fact that he's asking at all. Like he thinks I might have changed my mind.

Still on, I type back. Where are we going?

It's a surprise.

I don't like surprises.

You'll like this one.

I want to push, but I don't. If he wants to surprise me, I can let him have that. After everything he told me last night, after how vulnerable he was, the least I can do is trust him with a dinner reservation.

Fine, I say. But if it's somewhere weird, I'm blaming you.

Fair enough. See you in thirty.

I put down my phone and take a breath. Thirty minutes until I go on a date with a man I kissed last night, a man who plays professional hockey, a man who's been hiding in my grandmother's cottage for six months because the world decided he was a monster.

I don't think he's a monster. I think he's someone who made a terrible decision in a terrible moment and has been paying for it ever since. I think he's kind and quiet and notices things most people miss. I think he looks at me like I'm worth something, and I'm not sure anyone's ever looked at me like that before.

I check my reflection one more time. The black top, the jeans, the boots. My hair falling in loose curls around my shoulders. Lipstick that Nicole insisted on, a deep berry color that feels bolder than my usual.

I look good. I look like someone ready for something new.

At seven o'clock exactly, there's a knock on the door.

I take one more breath, and I go to let him in.

Chapter Twelve