Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
She presented him with the gift.
“Ah, you shouldn’t have,” he said. “You’ve already done so much.”
For a second, Mila wondered if she’d gone too far in buying the painting, but no, it was thoughtful on two counts—one for Hersch and the other for Tessa.
Hersch opened the card first. She kept a stack of personalized housewarming cards that said Welcome Home with a picture of Carmel-by-the-Sea on the front and her printed details inside. Her position was she never knew when a happy customer would like to recommend her to a friend, so she always kept on hand housewarming and holiday cards that contained her phone, email, and website details. However, she’d added a personal message to Hersch’s card. She’d thought long and hard and then written, I’m so happy to have you in the neighborhood.
She’d hesitated over how to sign off. With another client, she might have written sincerely or truly and signed her name, but after wrestling with it, she’d signed, Love, Mila. She put those same words on all kinds of notes and cards to friends, and if he was nothing else, he was certainly a friend. Sincerely would have been too formal.
He read the card and thanked her, setting it carefully on the coffee table, and proceeded to open her gift. She couldn’t wait for him to see it. Would he love it as much as she did?
She had a long time to wait, because Herschel did not rip into a gift like she did. Again, that very careful, precise nature came through as he peeled the tape off each edge and then carefully unwrapped the painting. He held it away from himself and stared at it for such a long time she couldn’t stand it another moment.
She blurted, “It’s by Tessa Taylor. You were admiring her work at the plein air show when I first met you.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze still focused on the painting. “I know. I’m just admiring the brushstrokes. She’s a truly talented painter.” He looked up at her, and she saw the warmth shining in his eyes. “I honestly cannot imagine a more ideal gift. I can’t even decide where I’ll hang this, because it will look right in every single room. It’s so thoughtful. I love it.”
She felt a rush of relief. He had seen the painting the way she had. “I think so too. And you’ll notice there isn’t a drop of water in sight. I specifically chose a painting that only included trees.”
He chuckled. “And I appreciate it. I’ve been here long enough to recognize that these are the Carmel cypresses. But she’s made them seem so alive—as if you look at the painting long enough, they’ll start moving with the breeze.”
“You felt that too,” she replied, so happy that he had seen the energy in the painting the way she had.
He stood then and, holding the painting in front of him, began to circle the room. A nice print was hanging above the fireplace. He took it down and put Tessa’s painting in its place.
“Oh, it’s perfect there,” she breathed. Then louder, she said, “Just perfect.”
He stepped back and nodded. “I will never look at this painting and not think of you. Thank you.” He shook his head. “What kind of a terrible host am I? Let me get you something to drink.”
He took the wrapping paper into the kitchen and put it away, and on impulse, she followed him. It was just nice to see him so at home. He opened the fridge, and she was impressed to see that it was already stocked with food. He pulled out a bottle of champagne and turned to her. “It’s a housewarming party. We should celebrate.”
He popped the cork while she fetched champagne flutes from the cabinet. They were lovely crystal glasses that had belonged to the previous owners, but she suspected that at some point Hersch would swap them for something simpler. He poured the sparkling wine, and as they clinked rims, she said, “Here’s to your new home.”
And he said, “And to new beginnings.”
Their eyes met, and she felt a shiver go from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She took a sip, and the wine was cool and crisp on her tongue. Then she took another sip, possibly for courage. They went back to the living room, and she noticed that music was playing. Now she went to the framed photograph of him and his crew about to climb aboard the space shuttle. She couldn’t help but recall the rescue effort she’d watched on YouTube.
She said, “I know you don’t like to hear it, but you really are a hero. I could never have done what you did the day of your crash landing.”
He seemed to take in her words and really consider them. “Going into space is easy. Just throw on the suit, eat freeze-dried food, and learn to sleep while floating. But I don’t think I could have ever done what you did—own those waves, compete at that level, and come back so brilliantly from your injury. I think you’re my hero.”