Page 20 of The Man in the Cottage

"I'm being accurate. But fine, I'll allow it. What's the house like? Is it creepy? Old houses are always creepy."

I look over my shoulder at the back door. The kitchen light is on, warm and yellow. "It's not creepy. It's just... old. Full of her stuff. I keep finding things in drawers and closets, little pieces of her life I didn't know about. Last week I found a shoebox full of letters my grandfather wrote her during the Korean War. I sat on the floor and read them for three hours."

"Kelly." Her voice goes soft.

"I'm fine. It was actually nice, in a sad way. Like getting to know them again." I watch a bird settle on the porch railing, puff its feathers against the cold. "The house is good. I think I'm good. I just miss people sometimes. Hence the party."

"Hence." She snorts. "Listen to you, using fancy words. Virginia is making you fancy."

"Virginia is making me talk to myself because there's no one else to talk to."

"What about cottage man? Doesn't he count as someone?"

I hesitate a beat too long.

"Oh my god." Nicole's voice sharpens. "Kelly. What was that pause?"

"What pause?"

"That pause! That very obvious pause when I mentioned the man who lives in your backyard!"

"There was no pause."

"There was absolutely a pause. I've known you for twelve years. I know what your pauses mean." She gasps. "Oh my god. You like him."

"I don't—"

"You do! You like cottage man! This is the best day of my life."

"It's really not that serious."

"It's extremely serious. You haven't liked anyone since David, and David was boring. Tell me about cottage man. Tell me everything. Is he hot?"

I glance toward the cottage without meaning to. Travis's truck is there, but I haven't seen him since this morning when he came by for coffee. We sat at the kitchen table for an hour, talking about nothing, and then he said he had some things to take care of and left. I've been thinking about it all day. The way he looked at me when he walked in, like he was relieved I was real. The way his hand brushed mine when I passed him the sugar.

"The cottage man is fine," I say carefully.

"Fine? That's all I get? Fine?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me if he's hot. I want details. Height, build, face situation. I need to form a mental picture."

"He's tall. Like, really tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair that's always a little too long. He has this face that doesn't give much away, but when he almost smiles it's..." I trail off.

"It's what?"

"I don't know. It's something."

She's quiet for a second. "You've got it bad."

"I don't have anything."

"Babe. You just described his almost-smile. You have it so bad."

"February thirteenth. You'd drive down the day before, stay the night, we'd do the whole thing on the thirteenth, and then you could leave on Valentine's Day or stay another night if you want."

"And what exactly are we doing at this Galentine's party?"