Page 88 of The Treasure House

“Yours or theirs?” I interrupted, enjoying the way he moved like a cat under my fingers as I ran them through his hair.

“Bit of both.” He sighed. “It seems to bother people that I’ve got no ambition.”

“You’ve got no ambition?” I was surprised. “But you run your own business.”

“Yeah, but look at it. It’s not like I run it for the money. It’s a mom-and-pop business in a town with about thirty people.” He shrugged. “The hardware store mostly makes its money servicing the farmers nearby and they can probably find better in Augusta. My main income is from the campground, which I manage but don’t own.”

“Who owns it?” I’d never even thought to ask before.

“The state does.” Jake sighed. “They bought the land back in the seventies. There used to be a resort there, you know, the old-timey sort, like from Dirty Dancing, where folks from away would come for the summer to play croquet and sail. It was out of fashion by the late sixties and burned down in the early seventies. Everyone around here thinks it was an insurance job. Anyway, the state bureau bought the land and reforested it and then set up a campground.”

I tried to imagine a hotel standing where the campground was but couldn’t. It looked like it had always been woodland.

“You feel like kissing again yet?”

I did, but I was also still curious. “How about a kiss, then a question?”

God, he was a good kisser. As soon as his lips met mine, I lost all sense of time. And sense in general. By the time we surfaced, I had my hand inside his shirt, tracing the warm velvety skin over those collarbones.

“Do you still remember your question?” he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to my neck, where my pulse was leaping.

“Yes,” I said breathlessly. “I wanted to know why your lack of ambition was a problem.”

His breath was hot on my neck as he sighed, making me shiver. “Oh, you know, people like a man with drive.”

“You don’t seem to lack drive,” I said, aware of the double meaning as I rested my hand flat against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding.

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong.” He leaned down and put his cheek on my shoulder. “One thing you need to know about me, Zoe, is I don’t care a thing for money. Or for success. Or for any of the things real men are supposed to care about. I’m quite content wasting my life here in this dinky store, in this dinky town, living my quiet life, watching the seasons change, sailing and surfing and just generally letting the days go by.” He rubbed his cheek against me. “Women generally find that disappointing. They might think they want a laid-back guy, but when they get one, they seem shocked I don’t have a career plan or a desire to travel to Europe every year or whatever.” He sat up again and passed me my wineglass. “I’m really happy being a loser.”

“You’re not a loser,” I said vehemently, meaning it. “Oh my God, Jake, you have no idea. You should meet some of the men out there. You run a business—really two if you count the lobster shack—and manage another business, and you can fix anything. And I’ve only been here for a couple of months, but I can see why you don’t want to leave. I never in a million years thought I’d be able to afford to live on the coast, and every morning I wake up and look out my window at that beautiful bay and I have to pinch myself. I go down the path through the woods, to the beach down from the spit, and I can’t believe I get to stand there on that horseshoe of sand. It seems like anywhere else in the world it would be a private beach, with security guards to chase you off.” I cleared my throat, aware I was giving a speech. “And, trust me, as someone who’s had to grind in the city for many years, the thought of living a quiet life here sounds like heaven.”

“Good thing you’re living here, then, isn’t it?” He seemed amused by my speech, but also kind of touched.

“I mean it, Jake,” I said, remembering my childhood. “Your life is perfect.”

Hazel let out a shuddery sigh in her sleep and I realized the storm had rolled away while we’d been talking.

“It’s a little more perfect tonight,” he said, sheepishly grinning at what a line it was.

I kissed him gently, the softness of his lips and his woody scent mingling with the smell of the fire and the perfume of the candle. “Your turn to ask me a question,” I whispered.

“Are you going to sell the place once it’s renovated and leave?”

I pulled back, surprised. “What?”

He shrugged. “I kind of thought you might. Flip it and move back to the city.”

I was astonished. “No. This is our forever home.” But I was also astonished at myself, because it hadn’t even occurred to me, even though plenty of the treasure houses I watched on TikTok were flipped to sell. I frowned and pulled away from him. “Wait. Are you kissing me because you think it’s safe because I’ll leave?”

“No.” Although he paused and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I was trying not to think about it at all and just stay in the moment. Because if I like you, and if you leave, that would suck.”

“And if you didn’t like me and I stayed, would that suck?”

“Oh whoa, no. That’s not what I meant. And you might decide you don’t like me. You might think I’m a bad kisser, or hate the stink of lobster after a while, or just get irritated by the way I breathe.”

“You kiss great and breathe fine,” I said shortly, still unsettled by the idea that he might only be interested in me because he saw me as temporary.

“And the lobster thing?”