Page 13 of The Man in the Cottage

"Most people are." She shakes her head, still smiling. "Okay, my turn. I once got fired from a summer job for reading on the clock."

"What kind of job?"

"Lifeguard."

I stare at her. "You were reading while you were supposed to be watching swimmers?"

"In my defense, it was a really good book." She holds up her hands. "And nobody drowned! Everyone was fine. The manager was just very uptight about the whole 'paying attention to the pool' thing."

"Seems reasonable."

"Seemed excessive to me at the time." She grins. "I was also very stupid at sixteen."

We trade stories for another hour. She tells me about her first apartment in New York, a place so small she could touch both walls if she stood in the middle and stretched out her arms. I tell her about the time I got lost in a city I'd lived in for three years because I never paid attention when other people were driving. She tells me about her grandmother, little things—the way she hummed while she cooked, the specific way she folded towels, the stack of romance novels she kept hidden in her nightstand like they were contraband.

I tell her about my grandmother too. Not everything, not the end, but the good parts. Sunday dinners. The way she'd call me by my full name when I was in trouble. How she taught me to play poker and then hustled me out of my allowance every single time.

"She sounds amazing," Kelly says.

"She was."

Kelly catches the past tense. I see it register on her face, but she doesn't push. Just nods, like she understands.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly.

"Me too."

The kitchen is warm and the light is soft and I've been here for three hours without noticing. It's the longest conversation I've had with anyone in months, and I don't want it to end.

But it has to. Everything has to end eventually.

"I should go," I say again, and this time I mean it.

She walks me to the door, and we stand there for a second in the yellow porch light, neither of us quite ready to end the conversation. The air is cold and she's got her arms wrapped around herself, and I have to stop myself from offering her my jacket like some kind of idiot in a rom-com.

"Thanks for coming," she says. "It was nice. Having company."

"Thanks for inviting me."

She nods. I nod. We're both just standing here nodding like we've forgotten how to say goodbye.

"Goodnight, Travis," she finally says.

"Goodnight, Kelly."

I make myself walk away, across the dark yard to the cottage, and I don't look back. If I look back, I'll see her still standing there in the doorway, and I won't be able to leave.

I let myself into the cottage and close the door behind me, leaning against it in the dark. My phone is heavy in my pocket. Dave's voicemails are waiting. The team is waiting. My whole life is waiting for me to make a decision.

But right now, all I can think about is the way she laughed when she called me a fixer-upper.

I am in so much trouble.

Chapter Five

Kelly

I'm stuck again.