Page 9 of The Guest Cottage
“A bass,” he said with no real inflection or expression, all his attention on the fish. “A big one.”
Venturing closer, she asked, “What will you do with it?” The poor fish flipped around in the water, trying to escape.
“Dinner.” He glanced at her, then away. “Squeamish about fish?”
“No.” She could almost swear she’d made eye contact with that fish. “I mean, I love fresh fish.” The second the words left her mouth, she wrinkled her nose. “Just not that fresh. Not . . . after watching it fight.”
“They aren’t grown at restaurants.” There was no mocking insult in his words, just fact. “Every bit of seafood, meat, or fowl that you’ve ever eaten was once—”
“Ack.” She covered her ears. “I know, I swear I do, but I like to live with the illusion that everything I consume just appears on my plate.”
Again, without a single note of mockery, he asked, “You’ve never processed the food yourself?”
“Sadly, I was raised upper middle class and then married into wealth. No exposure to anything . . .” She searched for a word and settled on, “Earthy.” The quick flash of his barely-there smile made her feel as if she’d just accomplished something worthwhile.
“I’m not sure a nice upbringing can be considered sad, but I get your meaning.”
Naturally, she wondered about his upbringing, but as he pulled the fish from the water, she concentrated on not looking at it. If she did, she just might cry.
“He’s in the basket,” Cort said. “You can look now.”
Oh wow, so he’d known she was cowering? Another humiliation. “Do you fish every morning?”
“Usually.” His intent gaze, narrowed from the sunshine, moved over her face. “If you plan to visit the dock each morning, I can fish on the other side.”
“I don’t mind,” she blurted too quickly, and then worried that he’d see through her carefree façade to the chaos of her current emotional state.
Pasting on a false but hopefully convincing smile, she said, “It’s so nice down here, I just might make it part of my morning coffee. Next time, with sneakers and a jacket or something, and hopefully I’ll drink the coffee instead of throwing it.” This smile, at least, was honest. “But hey, it’s your property, and I definitely don’t want you changing your habits for me.”
He gathered up his rod, a tackle box, and the basket containing several fish before he spoke. “If I’m here, it won’t bother you?”
“Not at all—as long as I’m not disturbing you.” Marlow couldn’t be sure, but it seemed the corner of his mouth gave another interesting little curl before he faced her again.
“You’re renting the place, dock included. Make yourself at home.”
That told her exactly nothing. So did her presence bother him or not? She was pretty sure she wouldn’t get any answers today. “I should get going. I want to get unpacked and maybe explore the area a little before we meet this afternoon.”
“Need help with anything?”
The man was far too helpful, but she knew it was important to reclaim her independence. She could and would get things done on her own. “Definitely not. You’ve been more than generous with your time.”
As if he’d expected that answer, he nodded. “I should get these fish gutted, then. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”
She watched him walk away, his posture military straight, his short, dark brown hair unmoved by the breeze. Such an interesting person. When she realized she was still standing there staring after him, Marlow quickly got it together. She retrieved her mug from the dock, peeled off her wet socks and used them to wipe up the rest of the spilled coffee, and then did a slip-slide climb up the dew-wet hill to the house.
Energized by plans and her pleasant visit with her landlord, she was anxious to get the house set up to her satisfaction. Not that it wasn’t already incredible, because it was, but she was an orderly person who needed her things where she could easily locate them.
Fresh start, she reminded herself. This was her new beginning, and she’d do it on her terms every step of the way.
CHAPTER2
Just before noon, Marlow got the last of her stuff put away. It had taken her far longer than she’d expected, but now she felt she had a good grasp on what was where, and it all made sense.
Donating the majority of her wardrobe had been a stellar idea. She’d owned far too much to move it all, and what use did she have for formal gowns or business suits? Her instincts, along with what she’d learned online, had been spot on. From what she’d seen of Bramble when she arrived, the townspeople weren’t concerned with fashion.
Going forward, her clothes, like her life, would be simpler. Far more basic. She’d kept only a few of her Dior pieces because they were timeless favorites. She doubted anyone would even notice.
Because summer was just starting, she’d need to pick up more shorts, cotton slacks, and maybe a few sundresses. The problem was figuring out where to shop. Then again, she could probably just go online. In the meantime, she had some jeans, a few skirts, sleep shorts, and plenty of tops.
