Page 44 of David's Chase

I forget to breathe as I watch everything with a big smile on my face, forgetting how I’ve gotten here or why I’m here, and the man enjoying my reaction next to me.

Occasionally, I talk to him––I don’t want to be rude––but the sight absolutely keeps me hostage.

The pilot moves the helicopter smoothly so we can enjoy the aerial view before heading east to the farthest tip of Long Island.

The view is in no way less beautiful.

Hundreds of lights are strewn across the ground and the lit roads look like glowing serpents while the ocean seems daintily stitched to the earth along the shore.

It’s humbling to look at the stretch of water and understand what a tiny bit of the universe we are.

The thought puts a trickle of gratefulness in my chest.

I turn to him and meet his questioning eyes.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice hardly overpowering the noise.

He tips his chin in response, smiling, enchanted, pleased with how authentic and fresh my reaction is.

Without making too much fuss about it, I lean to him, loop my arms around his neck, and kiss his cheek.

He smells like freedom.

The freedom of not fearing that something bad might spoil our time together.

A driver picks us up when we arrive in East Hamptons, and a short drive later, we enter the large driveway of a luxurious estate.

There is nothing blatantly ostentatious about it, yet the vast rooms, manicured lawn, and fountain in the middle of the driveway are telling about the kind of living the owner indulges in.

The place is artfully lit, not too bright or overly dim, and no one awaits us.

David walks out first and holds the door for me before the driver steers the car away, and we’re alone.

“You wanted something different,” he says. “I thought this would work for you.”

Still holding my hand, he looks at me, waiting for a reaction. I look at the two–story building before moving my bewildered stare to him.

This is not what I imagined when he said we should try something different.

“It’s a beautiful place. Is it yours?” I murmur.

He gives me a soft nod.

“This is one of the properties I own in New York. I don’t live here if that’s what you’re asking. It just happened that it was available.”

“Oh. So it’s up for rent?”

“Occasionally, yes.”

He studies my face with a mystified expression.

“Interested in renting it?” he jokes, showing me to the entrance.

“I might be,” I say seriously, although obviously joking. “The commute might be a deal breaker, though.”

He laughs, sincerely amused.

My heels click against the marble floors as we enter the place. It’s a modern house with a lot of light during the day, I imagine.

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