Chapter 22: The Room With the Balcony

The room at the top of the keeper's house had a white iron bed and a door onto the balcony.

My suitcase was sitting at the foot of the bed with a note taped to the handle.

Winnie had written: You'll want this. Don't thank me. Chowder is at six.

"She knew," I said.

"She always knows."

"She sent it up before we came."

"She sent it up with a fisherman while we were on the gravel."

Eli shut the door behind us and leaned on it.

"I told her I was going to ask," he said.

I knelt and opened the case.

The tissue paper was still folded over the lace set.

It was ivory and very thin, and I had bought it for this exact room and this exact week.

I held it up.

He made a sound low in his chest.

"Give me a minute," I said.

"I'll give you whatever you want."

"Turn around."

"Orla."

"Face the window until I say."

He turned to face the window with his hands flat on the glass.

I took off the jeans I had worn up the cliff road, and the shirt.

I put on the lace slowly, with the wind coming through the open balcony door.

When I told him to look, he did.

He didn't say anything for a long time.

His eyes went down me and back up, and he swallowed.

"You planned this for him," he said, not unkindly.

"I planned a week. I wanted somebody to look at me like that and not leave."

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