Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Even if all of this was amazing, the pièce de résistance of the cabin was an open fireplace in the center of the space, with a stonework, dome chimney that dripped down from the ceiling. It had love seats on either side. One that had a curve and was a dove gray, the other, a traditional shape in a pink and cream plaid.
The floors were wood, with lots of rugs. The walls were timber clapboard. And wispy curtains flanked the windows that had blinds currently raised.
And the twenty boxes I’d sent were all neatly lined up and stacked behind the couch, which had its back to the room so you could watch the flatscreen affixed to the wall.
I loved it. Every inch of it. There was nothing I would change.
In other words, it was perfect.
Perfect for why I was there.
Perfect if what happened hadn’t happened.
Perfect in a way I knew I could live the rest of my life there.
“Walk-in closet,” Dave Weaver said, slapping his hand on one of the doors beyond the kitchen. He moved to the next one and slapped that door too. “Storage. Also furnace. Water heater. Washer and dryer. If you bring in the outside pillows, you can put them in here and they won’t muck up the joint, seein’ as my Brenda bought a lotta them. Things get too hot, there’s AC units above each door.”
He pointed above where I stood, and I twisted to look up to see a slender unit over the door.
I twisted back when Dave kept talking.
“Remotes for the AC are in a drawer in the kitchen. Fireplace is wood burning. There’s a wood pile beside the shed outside. Shed has more storage if you need it. There’s also some gardening stuff in there.”
He moved to the kitchen and put his hands on the counter.
Once there, he continued talking.
“We get storms. They take out the electricity. It doesn’t happen all the time, but it happens. Because ’a that, this place has a generator outside. You know how to start up a generator?”
I shook my head.
“You want me to show you?”
“I…” I looked around the cabin, and I did this as I thought about all the stuff in my car, including the fact the closest grocery store was a good twenty-minute drive away, and there was stuff that needed to go in the freezer, which now really needed to be put away.
“I’ll call Doc,” Dave Weaver said, clearly reading my mind. “I think he’s back for a spell. I’ll ask him to pop by in a day or two, show you how to start up the generator.”
There it was again.
Doc.
“Doc?” I asked, taking a couple more steps in.
“Doc.” He jerked his chin to the side. “He lives up the trail a ways. Only other house on this lake. Good man.” He pointed to the wall where I saw an actual landline, cordless phone. Next to it was a small blackboard with a list of numbers written neatly on it. “Cell service can be spotty,” he shared. “Landline’s the way to go out here. I got our house number, Brenda’s and my cells on that list. Also, Doc’s landline and cell. You need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me or Brenda. But if you call Doc, he’d get here a lot faster.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly.
“Wi-Fi stuff is in the storage closet. Password is on the blackboard.”
I nodded.
He moved into the kitchen and his hand disappeared as he indicated something where he was standing. “Microwave is a shelf microwave. Brenda said it messed with her vision to have it visible.”
Brenda was correct.
“Right,” I replied.
“There’s a rope hammock rolled up in the storage room. The hooks for it are on the trees, south side of the pier, close to the water. Enjoy it. All we ask is for you to move it in if there’s weather comin’.”
A hammock.
Seriously.
This place was perfect.
“No problem. I can do that,” I assured.
He tipped his head to the side. “You want me to help you carry stuff in now?”
Truth told, I was exhausted.
I’d flown to Seattle yesterday and taken a commuter flight to Misted Pines that morning. From there, I taxied to the car dealership to pick up the SUV I’d purchased from afar, off to the grocery store, then here.
I hadn’t run a marathon, but travel took it out of me.
I hated grocery shopping with a passion, and I’d had to do a huge shop to outfit a new house, and now it was late afternoon. I wanted the stuff inside, the groceries put away, my bags unpacked so I knew where my jammies were, not to mention my toothbrush put in its place. After that, I was going to heat up Brenda’s world-famous taco meat, eat, drink champagne, and probably pass out.
And Dave Weaver might be in his sixties, but the wrinkles on his face said more like eighties. He was also somewhat rotund. I doubted he was a danger to me, but what I knew was, I could outrun him.