Chapter 20: The Cottage

The place was a one-room cottage on the headland, ten minutes north of town, with a tin roof and a porch that faced the sea.

Cade had bought it the winter after Reno, for almost nothing, when the roof was half gone and raccoons lived in the walls.

"I've been fixing it on Sundays," he said, and held the door. "I told myself it was a hobby."

The floors were new pine, and the walls were whitewashed.

There was a woodstove, a table he had built from a single plank, and one tall window that took up the whole seaward wall.

I turned in a slow circle.

"You built a bed," I said.

It stood under the window, wide and low, with a quilt folded at the foot.

"I built it for two people," said Cade, and his ears went red. "I didn't know who the second one would be."

"You did."

"I hoped."

I crossed the floor and put my hand flat on his chest.

His heart was going hard under my palm.

"Take your jacket off," I said. "Then stand there."

He did.

I lit the lamp on the table and turned off the overhead, and the room went gold.

I undid his shirt one button at a time and pushed it off his shoulders.

I kissed the scar on his collarbone, and the bruise my teeth had left on Monday, and the hollow of his throat.

He stood with his hands at his sides, shaking a little, and let me.

"Your turn to be patient," I said.

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