Page 132 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Just about. So we have a deal?” I extend my hand to shake on it.
Mike looks at my outstretched hand, takes it, and wiggles it side to side like a fish. And I laugh. “See you tomorrow. Ten a.m.?”
“Oh no, I’ll be here at seven. This is going to take much longer than you think.”
I have to hand it to Mike. The renovated place is amazing. It’s beachy and contemporary, and none of his choices get in the way of the showstopping views or the charm of his grandma’s quirky property. We assemble furniture, scrub and polish every surface, arrange flowers, hang lights, and as the sun is sliding low into the sky, we light candles.
Jeremy, who I recognize from Superhero Escapes, comes to snap some interior pictures before the light fades. “Incredible,” he says.
“Isn’t it?” I agree before offering him a piece of red licorice.
Mike texts Monique that all is ready, and we head out to get my fire pit. Yay for Small Business Saturday deals.
“Your grandma and your mom would be proud,” I tell Mike as we drive back.
He smiles. “They are. Somewhere, wherever it is, however it works. I know they are.”
When we return, I ask him if he wants to stay to witness the inaugural run of my fire pit.
“I’m going to head into work. Your brother texted and asked if I could help out tonight. They have quite the crowd at the escape room this weekend.”
Right. “You want me to blow out the candles?”
“I think Monique and Stacey got it covered. They’re giving the beach house a test run tonight, and I’m going to crash on their couch.”
I don’t want him to leave. “Isn’t that weird? The Airbnb-ification of your home?”
“Holding on tighter to something doesn’t make it any more yours. Night, Bea.”
Chapter 39
I love when I can hear Mike’s music. I’m not talking about the full-volume blast. But the times when it is obviously not meant for me to hear. I catch only a few bars when the wind blows just right and the surf is retreating before another break. The music mixes with the gulls and the waves, and I feel cozy. Content. The opposite of lonely. I’m a part of something. I’m connected to someone. And that someone has the good sense to listen to music in the morning.
Lying in my own bed, in my own cottage, on the first Friday morning in December is a type of freedom I never had before. But I have it now, and this freedom means space to dream. Andeven though my dream of Mike being this deep, introspective, literary genius has burst, the dream of a life with someone who loves me is still very real.
I pull on a robe over my periwinkle silk sleep set and slip through the privacy gate.
Mike’s Dutch door is open… Well, the top half is. I let myself in. “Mike!” I call.
A power tool buzzes at the back of the house.
“Mike!”
It cuts off. And there might be some grumbling. “It’s ten a.m., Bea. I waited until ten a.m.”
He appears in the kitchen with a carpenter’s angle in his back pocket and a pencil tucked behind his ear. His black waves look almost like curls this morning.
“I know. I came to say thank you.” I open his fridge to get the cranberry juice, but not before I steal a blackberry. Mike has taken to keeping them pre-rinsed in a bowl on the middle shelf. Convenient.
“You came to say thank you?” He pushes the fridge door shut. “Then let’s hear it.”
I freeze, on tiptoes no less, struggling to reach a blue glass at the back of his cupboard. “Thank you.”
He folds his arms across his chest, apparently waiting for more.
“For being so considerate and neighborly.” I jump a little and manage to hook a finger in one of the glasses. “Do you want some?”
“Of my own cranberry juice that I bought myself this morning and was saving for after I finish finally grouting the shower? No. Please. You enjoy.”
