Exhilaration surged through me as I drove the five blocks to the supermarket on Mercer Street. Instead of mentally running down the list of items I planned to buy, I daydreamed about the cottage I’d be looking at the next morning. Of course, it was bound to be too expensive for me to rent, but it sounded like a fairy tale come true. The landlord was seriously rude, but I needn’t have anything to do with him except send him the rent once a month. The rent! A dose of reality reminded me that visiting the cottage was about all I could look forward to, but I could give my imagination free rein until then.
The supermarket wasn’t very busy, and I was able to collect everything I’d planned to buy for the Halloween party. As I wheeled my wagon up and down the aisles, I considered what would make good prizes for the winners of the costume contest. Wine was one possibility, but not everyone drank wine. Gift certificates were another possibility. If only there were electronic gadgets for twenty dollars. I’d have to check that out online.
When I returned to the library, I rang for a custodian to help me carry in the bags of party refreshments.
Max was a big, burly man in his fifties. He had a round, bald head and wore glasses. “I’ll get the wagon and bring everything inside,” he told me. “Are you keeping it all downstairs in the utility room?”
“Yes, please.”
“Shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes. I’ll set the bags on the big table. You can sort it all later.” He gave me a broad grin, showing the gap between his two front teeth. “I’m sure looking forward to this party. So is my missus.”
I grinned back at him. “What are you coming as?”
“Not telling. Let it be a surprise.”
As usual, Max was good to his word. I found the six bags of groceries on the table in the utility room, which was off to the side of the meeting room. I placed the perishables in the refrigerator and small freezer. By the time I finished, they were so solidly packed, not another item could fit in either one.
The room had no cupboards or pantry, so I left the nonperishable items in the bags. Now that I was involved in many events that included food, I couldn’t wait for the library’s expansion to begin. We were getting a good-sized kitchen with new appliances and a much larger meeting room, among other improvements. Uncle Bosco was largely responsible for the expansion and had worked diligently to push the vote through. Of course, he’d contributed a lot of his own money to sweeten the deal. I didn’t look forward to the actual construction, but the results would be wonderful.
“What’s all this?”
Startled, I looked up as Dorothy Hawkins stepped into the room.
“Is this for the Halloween party?” She peered into a paper bag.
“Yes.” I moved closer to the table so she had to step back. “Why do you ask?”
Dorothy shrugged. “Just curious.”
“I hope you know better than to touch anything I’ve bought for the party.”
She sniffed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She turned on her heels and left.
What was she doing down here? Would she sabotage the party?
I went upstairs to tell Sally I’d bought the supplies for the party and that they were in the utility room. I handed her the receipt.
“Very good.” She scrutinized it and returned it to me. “You spent less than we’d figured.”
“The candy and a few other items were on sale. Er . . . do we have a key to the utility room? With so much food down there, I think we should lock the door.”
Sally laughed. “This isn’t the big city, Carrie. No one’s going to steal our party refreshments. Close the door and forget about it.”
“I closed the door, but I’d feel better if it were locked.”
Sally sighed. “The truth is, we lost the key a few years ago and never bothered to fit the door with a new lock. We’ve never had a problem with theft.” She turned her chair, a sign it was time for me to leave.
I was desperate. I didn’t trust Dorothy. I felt certain she’d do something spiteful to ruin the party. If anything happened to the refreshments, no patron would eat another morsel of food in the Clover Ridge Public Library.
“Dorothy was down there as I was leaving. She wanted to know if the supplies were for the Halloween party.”
Sally’s face hardened as she turned to glare at me. “And you’re suggesting that Dorothy Hawkins, who has worked at this library for twelve years, is going to do something nasty to the party refreshments?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. Well, I know Dorothy would never do anything to jeopardize the reputation of our library. So if there’s nothing more you want to say, I have work to do.”
I woke up early Saturday morning; showered; put on jeans, one of my new sweaters, and my new boots; and hurried downstairs. On weekends, Aunt Harriet usually made pancakes. This morning, they were apple-and-walnut multigrain pancakes topped with cheddar cheese and maple syrup that her sister had collected from her trees in Vermont.
Uncle Bosco glanced up from the sports section he’d been frowning at to ask me what plans I had for the day.
“I thought I’d look at a few more apartments.” I remained deliberately vague. Though they would never pressure me, I knew Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco wanted me to continue living with them—at least for another few months.
I picked up the classified ads section. The same ads from the past two weeks were there. No takers, of course. Who would want them? I felt a pang when I noticed the ad for the cottage.
“Interested in renting a country cottage with every convenience?”
Every convenience? The ad in the café hadn’t said that. Nor had it mentioned that it stood on a property of ten acres and had views of the river. This ad didn’t say the rent was reasonable for the right person, but the phone number was the same one I’d called. My heart plummeted to my boots. Someone was bound to grab this jewel—someone who could afford it.
“Well, I’m off.” Uncle Bosco stood and kissed Aunt Harriet’s cheek. “I have a council meeting this morning, but I’ll be home no later than two.”
“Make sure that you are,” Aunt Harriet said. “You’ll need to nap before we go over to Randy and Julia’s.” She turned to me. “It’s both their children’s birthdays, so we’re celebrating with an early dinner at five.” She shot me a meaningful look. “You were invited.”
“I know. Sorry, I have work to do, but thank them for me.”
Uncle Bosco fixed his gaze on me. “You’re twenty-nine now, Carrie. Time to get past your cousin’s teasing when you were kids.”
Teasing? Was that a euphemism for torturing a younger cousin going through the worst time of her life? It was the summer I’d turned seven. My father had taken off “to work,” and I hadn’t seen him in months. My mother had to stay in the city to work, and she’d kept Jordan with her for some reason. Of course, I cried a lot and moped around. Randy, who lived a few miles from the farm and was there practically every day, never missed an opportunity to call me “crybaby,” “mopey dopey,” and worse.
“Off you go,” Aunt Harriet said to Uncle Bosco. “Remember, you’ve had your breakfast and don’t have room for another.”
“Yes, dear,” he said meekly, but all three of us knew he’d probably have more than a cup of coffee at the council meeting.
We heard the front door close.
“Maybe you’ll come with us another time.” Aunt Harriet set a plate of three huge pancakes before me.
“Maybe.”
I poured syrup over the pancakes and then proceeded to devour them. I downed the last of my coffee and set out for my ten thirty appointment.
It was another sunny late October day. I drove slowly out of town, drinking in the sight of trees arrayed in yellow, gold, and brown. Soon all the leaves would fall to the ground, but for now, they created a scene more beautiful than any painting.
I obeyed the woman in my GPS and drove north on the main road for eight miles, then turned as directed onto a long driveway bordered by evergreens. I gasped when I pulled in front of the white house. House! It was a three-story mansion with a screened-in porch on one side, a three-car garage on the other, and green shutters on every window.
I was still gaping when someone said, “Hello, I’m Dylan Avery. I assume you’re here to see the cottage.”
The man beside my car window was in his midthirties. Tall and well-muscled in his forest-green rugby shirt and khakis, he would have been handsome if not for his grim expression.
“You startled me! Yes, I’ve come to see the cottage. My name’s Carrie Singleton.”
He backed up as I stepped out of the car. As we shook hands, I gazed up at his unsmiling face and into his gray eyes. He had a cowlick over the center of his forehead that he’d almost succeeded in forcing into submission. He seemed to be studying me too, and not the way men usually did, but as if I were a horse or a dog he was considering buying.
“Shall we?” He gestured to the path that continued past the mansion, cutting through a meadow as it veered to the right. He walked so fast, I found myself running to keep up.
“Could you please slow down?”
He spun around, and we almost collided. “Of course, if that’s what you want.”
If that’s what I want? I was a potential renter breaking in new boots, not a cantering pony.
We walked side by side without speaking. Had this once been farmland? The path stopped in front of a cottage.
“Oh!” I quickly covered my mouth. Too late, I remembered the first rule of negotiation: don’t act too interested or you’ll give the seller an edge.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Dylan said.
Nice didn’t cover it any which way. The cottage was a one-story replica of the mansion, without the garage or the screened-in porch.
He unlocked the front door, and I followed him into the small hall. The place had a musty odor, as if no one had lived here in many months.
“It could use a good airing,” he mumbled as though to himself. “Look around. The furniture can remain or be removed. It’s up to the renter.”
The kitchen was to the right of the hall. I was pleased to see the appliances looked new. I stared out of the large picture window. Twenty feet from the sweep of unkempt lawn was the river.
“It is close to the river,” I said.
“Of course. I put that in the ad. One ad, anyway.” His amused expression surprised me.
I crossed the hall to peer in at the dining room, which was large enough to hold a breakfront and a table with six chairs. “In my experience,” I told him, “most people exaggerate or lie outright when describing the place they want to rent.”
“I never lie. Ahead is the living room.”
It was furnished with a contemporary sofa, a lounge chair, and an upholstered chair, all in muted gold and blues. The chairs faced a large flat-screen TV. The three large windows faced the river.
“Equipped with Wi-Fi and a Blu-ray player,” Dylan said. “Want to see the bedrooms?”
“Of course,” I said, but I didn’t move from the river view. Suddenly I was curious about the property. “Did your family live here?”
“Years ago. The place is mine now. I had the cottage redone and updated.”
When? And why is no one renting it now? I was growing more and more curious about the previous tenants. Or was my curiosity more about the man standing beside me?
The bathroom and two bedrooms were down a narrow hall past the living room. The master bedroom had French doors that opened up onto a terrace that overlooked the river. The bathroom was compact but well designed, with updated fixtures. The other room had a twin bed, low bureau, and desk.
“You could use this room as a study or a guest room when a friend stays over.”
I could if I had a friend to invite over. And I could barbecue out on the terrace if I barbecued. But drinking a glass of wine on the terrace as I gaze at the river is doable. I shook my head to clear my brain. Time for a reality check.
“What rent are you asking?” I cleared my throat. “The amount wasn’t mentioned in either ad.”
Dylan pursed his lips. “Given its condition and location, I’d say twelve hundred dollars a month is a fair price.”
I did some quick figures in my head. Fair price or not, it was a bit steep for someone with only a few hundred dollars in the bank. I reentered the master bedroom and gazed out at the river. Such a peaceful view. For some reason, it struck a nostalgic chord, as if I’d seen this view before. The oddest sensation came over me. I felt as if I’d come home.
I’d rent the cottage regardless of the cost. Uncle Bosco would advance me a loan. He’d be happy to lend me the money so I could live someplace nice.
My moment of joy evaporated when I remembered what owing money had done to my family. I wouldn’t overextend myself. I couldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “The rent’s too high for my budget.”
“How much is too much?”
“Excuse me?” I stared at Dylan, wondering if he was mocking me.
He met my gaze straight on. “I imagine you have a job.”
“Of course I have a job!”
“But not one that pays a very good salary.”
“It will. Eventually. I’ve recently been promoted. I’m head of programs and events at the library.”
“Congratulations.” He clasped his hands together and gazed at them, deep in thought. After a second or two, he looked up. “What would be a comfortable amount to pay each month?”
“Eight hundred would leave me with enough left over to buy what I need.” I pursed my lips. “Two-thirds of your asking price.”
“How about we compromise. A thousand even. I should add that includes heat and electricity.”
I considered. I wanted the cottage. I’d pay what I had to. So what if I ate mac and cheese every night and spent my weekends watching TV instead of going out?
“I suppose I can swing it.”
Dylan studied my face. “But not comfortably.”
“Not really.” I thought of the ad he’d posted on the bulletin board in the café. “You did write ‘a reasonable rate for the right person’ in the Cozy Corner Café ad.”
“So I did.” He circled the room and came to stand beside me once again. “Okay, I’ll agree to eight hundred a month—”
“Really? Thank you so much! You could get three times that amount.”
“Please let me finish.” The grim expression was back in place.
“Certainly. Sorry.”
“The cottage is important to me, and I want someone living in it who will take care of it. I feel I can trust you to do that.”
“Oh, you can!” I gushed.
“I have one small request. If you agree, I’ll get the rental agreement to you ASAP, and you’ll be free to move in as soon as you like.”
A tremor ran through my body. Here was the catch. Dylan probably ran an illegal business out here where no one could spy on him, and he expected me to help him out. Sure, he figured now he had a patsy—someone who wanted the cottage desperately but couldn’t afford to rent it.
Dylan smiled, and suddenly he looked familiar. “Don’t look so frightened, Carrie. I’m not about to ask you to pass counterfeit money or forge checks. I’m away a good deal of the time. I need to know if you’ll agree to pick up my mail twice a week and send it to me. Since I’m never in one place too long, I’ll call or text you my address so you’ll know where to send it.”
I released a gust of air. “Sure, I can do that.”
He extended his hand and I shook it, feeling a tingling that went clear to my toes.
“In that case, we have a deal. And November’s rent is on me.”