three
peyton
There was nothing left of my thumbnail as I paced my living room. I’d had all day for panic to set in, for reality to come crashing down on me. Not only had I bought a house off the internet, but I’d quit my job. I took on the financial burden of a home I’d never set eyes on in person—one I didn’t even know if it was structurally sound—and I no longer had a job to replenish my funds. I should be freaking out, but I wasn’t. I’d never been surer of a decision in my life.
The clock was ticking away to eight. I had the number to the owner, a R. Raines. My guess, it was an elderly woman or man who the house just became too much for them to keep up with. I wasn’t sure what they thought of me buying the place sight unseen. They probably thought I was crazy, maybe I am a little.
My stomach twisted, the responsible part of me shouting that I needed to grab hold of sanity and stop the madness, but the responsible side had had control for far too long. It was time to be a little reckless. I picked up the phone and dialed the number.
“Hello?” The deep voice that came over the line had me checking the number again.
“Ah, I’m Peyton Morgan, and I’m looking for R. Raines.”
“That’d be me.”
What a voice. It was the kind of voice that could tempt a saint to sin. Distracted by that voice, more the image of the man it conjured, I just blurted out, “I bought your house and I really want your house. I’ve never done anything like this. Please tell me the house has good bones and that I won’t show up and a gentle breeze will cause it to crumble. Is it sliding off the cliff? Infested with insects or vermin?”
He made a sound, which mimicked an annoyed huff. “Do you think you could slow it down a bit, and we can do one question at a time?”
Smooth Peyton. “Yes, sorry. Is it livable despite its appearance?”
“To be honest, I haven’t been to the place in a few years. Can I ask a question?”
Hadn’t been to the place in a few years? Maybe not his home then. “Yes.”
“What about the house caught your eye?”
It wasn’t so much what caught my eye but the feeling I got, the possibilities hidden under the timber and stone. I couldn’t explain it to myself let alone him. Drawing a blank as to how to answer him, I said the first thing that came to mind. “The location for one and the size. It would be the perfect place for a bed and breakfast.” Bed and breakfast? Where the hell did that come from? I saw it as my home, dogs running around the cliffs, the sound of children’s laughter carrying on the wind and a man who made my heart race as easily as he drew a laugh and a smile.
I was pulled from those thoughts when he said, “Bed and breakfast?” Those three little words spoken as if they were contagious. I wasn’t hip to the idea either, but coming from him, the seller to the buyer, it was kind of rude. Older people tended to speak their minds more though, the benefit of age and not giving a shit.
Ignoring his tone, I added, “There’s just something about the house. It’s falling apart and neglected, and despite that, or maybe because of it, I’m drawn to it. I’d like to see the property.”
“Mrs. Morgan?”
“Yes.”
He took a deep breath and asked, “Are you saying that I neglected my property?”
He had, but to him I said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Raines, I didn’t mean any offense. It’s just the place is falling apart, based on the pictures, but I understand it is a large property and that can be overwhelming to maintain. And it’s Miss.”
“Fine, Miss Morgan,” he said firmly and continued with the same tone, “What I seem to find a little overwhelming is this fucking conversation. You talk to me as if I’m an elderly man, wait, not just elderly but poor.”
Did he just say fuck? Picturing the elderly man I’d conjured in my head saying that word was a bit jarring. The rest of his statement registered. Not elderly. I couldn’t help myself, despite his attitude, I wondered if he was physically as sexy as his voice.
He continued, “I’ll have you know, I am far from elderly Miss Morgan. I inherited the house.” Again he paused briefly, taking a deep breath before finishing, “It doesn’t matter. You wanna see the place?”
The arrogance behind the words far from elderly grated or maybe it was his declaration of it not mattering. I imitated his tone and clipped my words when I replied, “Yes, Mr. Raines, I’d like to see the property.”
Hearing what sounded like a door slamming, he bit out, “Fine. We can meet on Sunday, around noon.”
I held the phone away from me. Was this man for real? He had no idea where I lived but instead of asking me when a good time would be for me, he told me when I could see the house. I was the damn buyer. The sensible thing to do would be to call it off; I didn’t need to deal with another impossible man in my life, but I wanted that house. Ogg’s Point was far, but not terribly far. I could easily make the trip, but it was the principle of the matter that had me adding, “Three works better for me.”
“Three?” he chuckled, sarcastically. “Yeah, whatever.”
Whatever? My nails dug into my palm with how hard I was fisting my hand. Whatever was a pet peeve, like calm down. Clearly, Mr. Raines was a Neanderthal, but he wouldn’t scare me off with his nonexistent manners. “Three on Sunday.” I thought to say goodbye, but screw that. I hung up.
I almost threw my phone across the room; instead, I dragged my hands through my hair because talk about an infuriating man.
One thing was for sure, Coda was coming with me, all six-foot-one of him, because I knew all the bluster I felt right now would go right out the window when coming face to face with the arrogantly rude man I just spoke to. It was a shame because that voice, holy hell, that voice, particularly knowing now the owner was far from elderly. That voice, in the dark, whispering words in my ear, the weight of him on top of me.
Get a grip, Peyton. It’s just a voice.
I moved to my laptop and pulled up the house, my finger tracing the balustrade of the widow’s walk. Had a sea captain once lived there? Had his wife paced that walk, looking out to the horizon waiting for her love to return? Had there been laughter, family, children?
My thoughts drifted back to R. Raines. I could understand someone who was far from elderly being annoyed he was assumed to be, but what the hell did he care what a stranger thought of him on first impression over the phone? He was not a man to inspire late night walks, eyes glued to the horizon waiting, worrying, longing for his safe return. I was more inclined to scenes from 300 as the Persian ships crashed up against the rocks, the waves overwhelming his ship, the hand of Poseidon reaching up from the depths to pull him under. I chuckled at the morbid but great visual. My phone rang yanking me from my silliness. I did glance at the caller ID to make sure it wasn’t the man in question. Knowing my luck, he could read minds across the distance and was calling with that arrogant, yet aloof, tone to discipline me on my murderous thoughts. Thankfully, it was Coda.
“How’s the convention?” I asked unceremoniously.
“Good.” An odd pause before he added, “Really good.”
That pause was significant. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Coda, I have known you a long time. Spill it, what happened?”
“I met someone.”
Story time. I moved from my laptop to the sofa, curling my legs under me settling in for a good, juicy story. “Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”
A deep chuckle came across the line. “Not everything.”
My eyes widened as my lips formed an O. Not that he would see my reaction. “Are you serious?”
“I can’t explain it, Peyton, because I’ve never experienced it before, but yeah.”
“What’s her name?”
“Laura.”
“Where is Laura from?”
“Believe it or not, she lives in Boston.”
“And she’s in the restaurant business and you don’t know her?”
“She just started a bakery, real grass roots kind of place.”
I’d never heard him sound so happy, like really, truly happy. “What’s she like?”
“A lot like you, actually.”
“So charming and witty, gorgeous…”
“Modest.”
“Always.” I chuckled, the smile genuine when I added, “I can’t wait to meet her.”
“So what’s up with you?”
I didn’t hedge with Coda. “I bought a place sight unseen off the internet. The one in Ogg’s Point.”
The loud clanging that nearly deafened me was him dropping his phone. “You did what?”
“I quit my job, had a few glasses of wine and bought the house. Talked to the owner today. He’s a dick. I’m seeing the place on Sunday at three. You’re coming. You’ll be home then, right?”
“Backup, what do you mean he’s a dick?”
“I may have assumed he was an elderly man. He got his knickers in a twist.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“He informed me he found the conversation fucking confusing given that he felt like I was talking to him as if he was infirmed and old. To my credit, it was a fair assumption.”
“Assuming he was old. Why?”
“Well, the house is a mess. When selling a property if the owner is indeed able and healthy, I’d think he’d put some work into the place. Instead, it looks like the Bates Motel. So he’s not old, just arrogant and indifferent. Either way, I need backup.”
“No chance in hell you’re going alone. I’ll make sure I’m home.”
Even busy with work and a new blossoming romance, Coda was there for me. My words were simple, but they were heartfelt. “Thank you.” We shared a moment before I added, “Now, details about Laura.”