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The front of the house looks like it’s a log cabin, but once you get inside, it’s totally been updated. “I would tell you to go ahead and let yourself in,” Casey says, taking out the luggage from the trunk, “but this house still has a lock and key and not a key pad.” He walks up the four steps to the door, opening up the white screen door before unlocking the door and turning and handing me the key. “Here you go,” he says. “It’s got an automatic lock system, so make sure you have the key with you all the time.”
“Got it.” I palm the key and put it in my jacket pocket. I step into the house, and the smell of fresh flowers hits my nose.
“I’m going to leave the truck with you and go home in the golf cart,” he explains, handing me the key to the Range Rover.
“I got some flowers from the garden,” he says as he walks farther inside between the dining room and to the kitchen that is right off the front door and points at the flowers in the middle of the big wooden table. The exposed wooden beams make the house look so rustic, along with the furniture. “I also picked up a couple of things at the store to tide you over and brought over some of Grandma Charlotte’s stuff from the barbecue today,” he says, and I shake my head.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” I say and let out a huge sigh, “but thank you.”
He puts my bag down. “If you need anything, you call me, no matter what time it is.”
“Just you doing this,” I reply, “is more than enough.”
“I’ll let you be.” He smiles and then kisses my cheek before walking back out the door, making sure it closes after him. I shrug off my jacket and put it on the back of the chair for now before I walk to the back of the house, where the living room looks out into the darkness. The three dark blue couches bring a touch of color to the room, but I love the wooden crate in the middle the most. It feels like it’s over a hundred years old, and you can just imagine the history of it.
“You need a bubble bath and bed,” I tell myself, walking to the fridge and taking out a bottle of water before going over to carry my luggage up the steps to where the two bedrooms are. As soon as I make it to the top step, there are three wooden doors. I open the first one and see it’s the bathroom. The slanted ceiling makes the bathroom even more homey with the big clawfoot tub. All I want to do is light some candles and sit in it.
I make my way over to the bedroom at the end of the hall and open it, seeing it’s the big bedroom. The king-size bed takes up most of the room, with a white quilt on it and a plaid green throw blanket at the end of the bed. A long wooden bench in front of the bed faces a long dresser. I wheel my luggage to the corner of the room where the chair is and dump my bag there before I walk back to the bathroom and run a bath.
When my phone rings, I run back downstairs to get it out of my jacket. I see it’s Zoey. “Hey,” I answer, walking back upstairs.
“Hey,” she says, breathless, “are you there?”
“I’m here,” I confirm. “Just got here.”
“What are your plans for the night?” she asks, and I look at the water running in the bath.
“Bubble bath followed by a face-plant into the bed.”
“No,” she snaps, “absolutely not.” I laugh.
“What?” I ask, not sure what the hell she is saying.
“You need to put on a fresh pair of pants and go out.”
“Where?” I ask, looking back out into the darkness.
“The bar in town,” she states. “It’s Sunday, so chances are no one is there that you know since they are all staying in from the family lunch.”
“I’m not going to a bar,” I tell her.
“Why not?” she asks, and I look back at the tub. “Give me one reason.”
“It’s Sunday.” I think it’s a great excuse. “I have to get ready for the week.”
“You need to go and put on a cute pair of jeans and a sexy top and get out there.”
“I don’t want to,” I almost pout.
“Well, maybe you need to?” I look at the clock.
“It’s, like, almost eight o’clock.”
“And you aren’t sixty-five,” she counters. “Get your ass out there.” I don’t say anything. “At least go for, like, one drink.”
“Fine,” I say, getting up. “You’re right, this is my time to live it up.”
“Yes,” she encourages me, “live it up. Suck dick.”
