Page 44 of The Man in the Cottage

I reach across the table and put my hand over his. His skin is warm, his fingers rough with calluses I never thought to wonder about before. Hockey hands. A whole life I'm only beginning to understand.

"You don't have to decide tonight," I say.

"I know."

"And whatever you decide, it doesn't change anything. Between us, I mean." I squeeze his hand. "I didn't fall for Travis Howe the hockey player. I fell for the guy who fixed my sink and made me laugh and looked at me like I was worth something. That's who I want. The rest is just details."

He turns his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine. "You fell for me?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late."

Maria reappears with food I don't remember ordering—pasta in a red sauce, chicken with lemon, a salad with more vegetables than I've eaten in a week. She tells us we're cute, that she approves, and orders us to eat because we're both too skinny.

"I love her," I tell Travis when she leaves.

"She's basically adopted me at this point. I think she's lonely. Her husband died a few years ago, and her kids moved away."

"That's sad."

"Yeah. But she's got this place. And she's got customers who keep coming back." He picks up his fork. "She told me once that the secret to being happy is having someone to feed. I think she meant it literally and figuratively."

I think about my grandmother. The way she was always pressing food on me—casseroles and pies and cookies that appeared whenever I visited. The way she'd sit across from me at this very table and watch me eat with the same quiet satisfaction Travis is showing now.

"My grandmother was like that," I say. "She showed love through food. I didn't realize it until she was gone."

"Yeah." He nods slowly. "Mine too."

We eat in comfortable silence for a while. The pasta is perfect—fresh and rich and exactly what I needed. Around us, the restaurant hums with conversation and laughter, but our corner feels separate somehow, like we're in our own little world.

"Can I ask you something?" Travis says.

"You can ask me anything."

"Why did you say yes? Last night, when I asked you out. You could have said no. You probably should have said no, given everything."

I think about it. There are a lot of reasons—the kiss, the conversation, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. But one thing stands out.

"You left your porch light on," I say.

He frowns. "What?"

"When I walked back to the house last night. I looked back at the cottage, and your porch light was on." I shrug. "I don't know. It made me think you were waiting for me. Like you weren't giving up just because I left."

"I was waiting for you." His voice is quiet. "I have been since the day you got here."

Something turns over in my chest. A warmth spreading outward, filling spaces I didn't know were empty.

"That's a good line," I say, trying to keep my voice light.

"It's not a line. It's the truth."

I don't know what to say to that. So I just look at him, this man I thought I knew, this man I'm still learning. He's not what I expected when I came to Longshore. He's not what I expected when I found him in the cottage, or when I kissed him at midnight, or when I agreed to this date.

He's better.

"I'm glad I said yes," I tell him.