Page 143 of Never Forever

“I don’t understand why. Why you were so cruel. Why you waited until the last minute. Yes, I take responsibility for keeping you a secret from my family, but that doesn’t explain how you could do that to me the way you did.”

“Because I was a coward,” he said. “Because I was a stupid kid and I didn’t know what I was doing.”

I shook my head. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Matt…I want to believe this,” I said, gesturing to the fire and the air mattress behind us. “I want to believe that you mean everything you say. Everything. Only tell me how I do that when part of me is waiting for you to hurt me again.”

He took a breath and looked over my shoulder to the grey day outside.

“The storm is over,” he said.

“I know.”

“The ferry will run again,” he said grimly. “Get dressed, you’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“My home. It’s time you saw it.”

32

Carrie

He was quiet on the ferry. Quiet in the truck as he drove us through town. There were no more paparazzi waiting for anyone anywhere. The storm blew them all away. I kept looking at him, trying to read his expression, but I had no idea what he was thinking.

“You good?” he asked, pushing the heater vents toward me.

“Fine,” I said. All of our stuff was in the back of the truck. I hadn’t committed to moving into his house with him, but it felt like that was what we were rushing toward. Everything felt extremely fast all of a sudden. The storm was over and we were different somehow.

But I couldn’t quite figure out how.

“Where’s your house?” I asked, as we left town behind. We were getting closer to the Capstone Ridge.

“There wasn’t any property available in the forest,” he said. “So I did the best I could and found a place that backs onto the national park.”

“Why in the world would you want to live in the forest?” I asked him. He glanced at me and then back at the road.

He pulled into a driveway in front of a log cabin that was made of timber and glass. Sophisticated and rustic.

“That’s yours?” I asked, stunned by how beautiful it was. He nodded. Back to silent stoic Matt.

“Did you have it built?” I asked, climbing out of the truck to stare at it. It looked both modern and like it had risen up from the granite. Like something out of an architectural magazine.

“No. It was Declan Armitage’s first project. Except it had been abandoned because he hadn’t been willing to sell it. Eventually, I convinced him to sell it to me.”

Now it all made sense. Declan was a renowned architect who grew up in Calico Cove. He’d been a big deal for a long time, but after a scandal I couldn’t remember, no one had heard from him for years. Total recluse.

“It was a mess when I got it. The roof had caved in and there were raccoons in the attic.”

“They’re gone, right?” I asked, following him up the path to the big wooden front door. That front door looked like Maine. Like Matt, really. Solid. Dependable.

“Mostly,” he said with a wink, and then opened the door.

Inside was beautiful. Beautiful and lush and refined all at the same time. Everything in wood tones and dark blue and green.

It looked like the forest and the ocean and the inside of Matt’s brain. From the front door you could see everything. The kitchen was sleek and modern but the rest of it was rustic and cozy. A big fireplace, comfortable couches. A reading chair in the corner with a lamp beside it.

And books. Everywhere. They were shoved in built-in shelves. Stacked on the ground. On the edge of every table.

The back wall was made of windows looking out at the forest.

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