Page 45 of The Man in the Cottage

"I'm glad you did too."

We finish dinner and share a dessert—tiramisu that Maria insists we try, creamy and sweet and probably the best thing I've ever tasted. Travis pays the bill despite my protests, and Maria hugs us both goodbye, making us promise to come back soon.

Outside, the night is cold and clear, stars scattered across the sky. Travis takes my hand as we walk to the truck, his fingers warm and solid around mine. It feels natural. It feels right.

"So," he says. "Good surprise?"

"Good surprise," I admit. "You were right."

"I'm going to remember you said that."

"Don't."

He laughs, and the sound does something to my heart. I'm in trouble here. Real trouble. The kind of trouble you don't come back from, the kind that changes everything.

But looking at him in the dark parking lot, his face lit by the glow of the restaurant's sign, I find I don't mind.

Some kinds of trouble are worth it.

He opens the truck door for me, and I climb in, and we drive back to Longshore through the dark Virginia night. His hand finds mine somewhere on the way, resting on the console between us, and neither of us lets go.

When we pull into the driveway, he walks me to the door like this is a real date, like we're two people who met the normal way instead of me inheriting a house with a man already living in the backyard.

"I had a good time," I say.

"Me too."

We stand there for a moment, neither of us moving. Then he leans in and kisses me, soft and slow, his hand cupping my jaw like I'm something precious.

"Goodnight, Kelly," he says against my lips.

"Goodnight, Travis."

He waits until I'm inside before he walks back across the yard. I watch him through the window until he disappears into the cottage, until his porch light comes on—left on for me, maybe, or just habit.

I decide it doesn't matter. Either way, it feels like a promise.

I lean against the door and close my eyes, replaying the evening. The restaurant, the wine, the way his hand felt in mine across the table. The way he talked about hockey like it was something he might be able to walk away from. The way he looked at me when he said he'd been waiting for me since the day I got here.

This morning I woke up alone in my grandmother's house, convinced I was making a mistake. Now I'm standing in the same spot, and everything feels different. Lighter. More possible.

My phone buzzes. Nicole.

How was it???

I smile at the screen and type back: Good. Really good.

Details! I need details!

Tomorrow. I promise.

You're the worst.

Love you too.

I plug in my phone and go upstairs to bed. The house is quiet, the way it always is, but it doesn't feel lonely anymore. There's someone across the yard who's thinking about me. Someone who left his light on.

I fall asleep faster than I have in weeks, and I dream about nothing in particular—just warmth, and candlelight, and the sound of someone laughing at something I said.