Page 84 of The Treasure House

The room was painted a warm, creamy off-white, and the furniture was mismatched but cozy. There were bookshelves on every spare wall between the windows, I noted approvingly. The room smelled delicious too. Something good was cooking.

Jake reappeared through the door next to the fireplace, carrying a fluffy white towel. He tossed it to me. “Here you go.”

I handed him the bottle of wine in exchange for the towel, aware that my hair was a mess from the wind. So much for taking care with my appearance, I thought as I tried to dry myself off. I didn’t have high hopes for drying the jeans. They were soaked through from the thigh down.

“It’s going to be quite a night, by the looks of it,” Jake said as the wind kicked at the windows.

“Hope you’ve got your storm windows up,” I said dryly.

He grinned at me, the double dimple in full flight, and my heart tumbled over. “Why don’t you dry off by the fire. Can I get you a wine?”

I nodded, trying not to drip on his rug as I crept toward the fire. The warmth was divine.

“I’ve got white in the fridge if you prefer?” Jake offered.

“I’m easy,” I said, then winced. God, everything was sounding suggestive tonight.

Jake was wearing a well-laundered flannel shirt in soft gray and sage green and jeans that clung lovingly to his long, hard legs. His shirt was open at the neck, revealing his collarbones and a triangle of burnished skin.

“I didn’t do fancy for dinner,” he warned me as he poured a couple of glasses of Chardonnay. “I just roasted a chicken.”

“It smells amazing.” I took the wine from him. He smelled amazing too—that woody, salty, warm Jake smell.

I had no idea what to say next. I’d forgotten how to date.

Jake was watching me, a small smile playing on his lips. He was amused by my nerves. Although, to be fair, he looked a little nervous too. And the place had clearly been cleaned to within an inch of its life. There was a candle burning on the coffee table—an expensive scented one. I doubted it was usually there. Jake didn’t strike me as a candle guy.

He lowered himself to his velvety overstuffed sofa and took a sip of wine.

Lightning spiked in the east, illuminating the black sheet of the ocean.

“Wow.” To get away from my nerves, I moved to the window to watch the storm approach. The world outside was monochrome as the distant lightning flickered. Faint thunder grumbled.

“It’s still a ways off,” Jake said, not moving from the couch. He stretched an arm across the back of the couch and watched me.

A net of lightning split the sky, and I silently counted until the thunder rumbled.

“You were not at all what I was expecting when I heard someone was interested in the house,” Jake said, and even though he spoke quietly, I jumped.

“You made that clear when I met you.”

He pulled a face at the memory. “Sorry. I can be an ass. It’s too much time spent alone—I forget how to act with people.” He rubbed his cheek. “But also, you are a madwoman for buying that place.”

“No,” I said, screwing up my courage to go and join him on the couch. “I am a desperate woman. Do you have any idea how expensive housing is?” I lowered myself to sit next to him.

He rested his chin on his palm. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” I took a shaky sip of wine. “I haven’t done this in a while,” I confessed.

“What? Talk?”

“Funny.” I fiddled with the hem of my sweater. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, you’re doing fine so far.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If it helps, I haven’t done this in a while either.”

I didn’t believe him.

“It’s a small pool around here,” he said wryly. “And I’m related to most of them.”