Page 39 of You Had Me at Chocolate

Except she didn’t wake until the next morning, deliciously warm, cocooned in a blanket, the earthy aroma of coffee tickling her nostrils, a pillow under her head.

*

It was threatening to snow just after lunch as Jude pulled up his vehicle in the drive of an old house sitting in the middle of its bare, frigid block on a rural road not far from Livingstone. He’d bet the bank that, even in its heyday, it hadn’t been particularly welcoming.

“It looks like it has possibilities,” Clementine said from the passenger seat, her eyes traveling over the sagging building.

“Hmm,” he said noncommittally.

The truth was with enough money and imagination—one he had loads of, the other he could buy—any place could be spruced up to be something special. But not every place felt special from the get-go. That came from the house’s spirit and it was that he was looking for.

This place, he knew already, didn’t have it.

“Uh-oh,” she murmured. “That hmmm doesn’t sound good.”

Jude grinned. “It’s my I’m reserving judgment hmmm.”

“Whatever.” Clementine rolled her eyes and opened the car door. “Just, keep an open mind, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jude said with a resigned sigh as he got out of the car and they trailed across the block to the house. The clapboard was peeling and there was no porch, no steps, just a crumbling concrete path leading straight to the front door which was fiddly to unlock, requiring much jiggling and a muted cuss word or two.

It was as if it, too, was trying to discourage anyone from entering. Like Jude needed any more impetus…

Eventually, it ceded to his will and they entered. It was only marginally less frigid than outside and streams of their dragon breath frosted into the air as they wandered from one soulless room to the other. Clementine commented on the things that could be done to make it into the cozy inn of his dreams but all Jude could see was what it wasn’t.

It wasn’t the one. He didn’t feel it in his gut.

They stood at the back window looking through the dirty pane, their warm breaths causing patches of fog on the glass. A sweeping view of brittle grass and nude trees stretched in front of them. Jude supposed in summer it would look very different but it was hard to imagine with winter bleaching the color from the landscape.

He couldn’t even see a mountain which was no easy feat in this part of Montana. It looked about as inviting as an arctic tundra. He was surprised a tumbleweed hadn’t blown across the yard.

“It needs a lot of work,” he said because that at least sounded like he was keeping an open mind.

“You have the time and the money.”

That was true but… “It feels cold.”

She laughed. “It’s about to snow, Jude.”

He glanced at her sheepishly. “You know what I mean.”

“No.” She shook her head. Her curls were tucked into a knitted cap with kitten ears that she apparently got in Budapest last year and made her look cute as hell. Her nose was red tipped and those cute chipmunk cheeks were rosy. “I don’t know if I do. What are you after? A new build, a renovation? How many rooms? You want to live on site or hire a manager?”

“I’m happy to renovate and I’d prefer an older place with a bit of history to it.” Pulling elements out of his head to assemble a vision was harder than he’d bargained. “Something smallish just a few rooms upstairs and an extra one for me to live on site. Definitely a big old dining room and a wraparound porch and some land with trees to climb. A great big farmhouse-style kitchen. I want to make good, hearty meals for my guests. Chowders and cobbler and pot roast and corn bread. Traditional food, the stuff from yesteryear. The kind that fills bellies and makes memories and brings people back because sitting at my table made them happy.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Yeah. It was. Caught up in memories, Jude leaned his hands on the frigid wood of the windowsill but he barely felt the cold as he stared out over the uninviting landscape, the complete antithesis of his dream property.

“For one week a year—the same week every year—Mom and Dad and I would fly into Houston then drive to the inn near Rockport and Dad would watch his migrating cranes all day and Mom got to bake in the sun at the beach and they were so damn happy. No sniping, no arguments. No loaded silences. They actually laughed and it felt like we were a family again. That’s what I want. The kind of place that families want to return to, year after year.”

She already knew about the little inn. He’d told her about it the first day they’d met. It was why she’d folded paper cranes for him every camp. Because she’d thought having a bird-watching dad was pretty cool instead of weird like his friends.

A hand slipped onto his shoulder. “You’re probably not going to find a replica of the place you stayed at in Texas, Jude.” Her palm was warm and her voice was gentle and Jude shut his eyes against the pull of both. “This is Montana after all.”

Sure, he knew that. But it wasn’t about replicating an architectural style.

“It’s not about what it looks like,” he dismissed, opening his eyes as he turned to face her, displacing her hand. “You have to feel it here.” He slapped his belly.

---