"I think I do."
Eric was always honest and direct. He didn't traffic in meticulous diplomacy or pretty lies. When he said something, he meant it with every fiber of his being.
Rain began to fall on the cottage roof, individual drops finding their way between the cedar shingles to lay the groundwork for a storm's arrival. The sound was soft at first—barely more than a whisper against the windows—but I knew it would build. Weather always started politely on Ironhook before showing its teeth.
Eric moved toward the kitchen. I could have started the familiar evening routine of checking the generator fuel andbanking the wood stove for the night. Instead, I stood rooted in the living room.
The words rattling in my head demanded that I speak. I couldn't hold them back. Eric had systematically dismantled every defense I'd constructed.
"I want to stay here. With you."
I hadn't planned on the confession.
Eric froze halfway to the kitchen, one hand still reaching for the coffee pot. His shoulders tensed beneath his flannel shirt, and he didn't breathe for a heartbeat.
He turned slowly, and his ocean-blue eyes searched my face.
The silence bore down on me, and I had to pierce it again. "I'm not good with words. Never have been, but at the rink, watching you light up when I managed not to fall on my ass—" I dragged my fingers through my hair. "I don't want to go back to being alone."
Eric stepped up close, and I shivered slightly.
"You're sure? Once you say something like that, you can't unsay it."
"I've been sure since the meteor shower. Maybe since the day you showed up and spilled coffee on my boots." I attempted a smile. "Just took me a while to work up the guts to admit it."
Eric reached out and took my hand. He didn't squeeze or grip or try to anchor me in place. He simply held on.
The cottage held its breath around us. Rain drummed steadily against the roof, and the oil lamps flickered in their glass chimneys. Outside, the storm was building toward something substantial, but inside, we were warm and safe in our cocoon.
When Eric spoke again, his voice was steady and sure. "Guess we should probably figure out what this looks like."
"Probably." I squeezed his hand gently. "But not tonight. Tonight, we're just... us."
He smiled with joy. "I can work with that."
The kitchen radio above the sink whispered fragments of dinner music—something with violins that kept dissolving into white noise—while Eric rummaged through the pantry.
"We've got pasta," he announced, emerging with a box of penne that I'd forgotten existed. "And there's that jar of marinara sauce from your last supply run. Plus some of those mushrooms from the co-op that Mrs. Pelletier insisted you needed."
I watched him assemble ingredients on the counter. Everything had its place, its purpose, and its contribution to the larger project.
"Mushrooms were her idea of improving my nutrition," I pulled a cutting board from the drawer beside the sink. "Apparently, I look too pale for October."
The radio crackled, interrupting the music. The familiar cadence of a National Weather Service announcement cut through the static like a foghorn.
"This is NOAA Weather Radio, broadcasting on a frequency of 162.475 megahertz. The current time is 6:45 PM Eastern Standard Time. We have updated marine weather information for coastal Maine and the maritime provinces."
I paused to listen.
"Storm advisory now in effect for the outer islands of Penobscot Bay… Winds increasing overnight. Gusts to forty-five knots. Small craft advisory remains."
Eric filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. "There is something kind of perfect about a storm tonight. Like the island's throwing us a housewarming party."
The observation was so typically Eric—finding meaning in coincidence and turning ordinary circumstances into something worth celebrating."
The water began its slow climb toward boiling, steam starting to rise from the pot in lazy spirals. Outside, the wind picked up speed, testing the cottage's construction.
Eric moved closer, arm brushing mine as he reached for olive oil. "Think we'll keep power long enough to finish cooking?"
