The Guest House (13 page)

In a hot, empty old house.

Lexi drew in a deep breath, as if she were about to go underwater.

And maybe she was.

A
little after four thirty, her light nearly gone, Lexi heard Cooper’s footsteps landing on the servants’ stairs as she packed up.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?” he asked.

“Please.” She closed up her light cases and joined him at the counter while he uncorked a chilled bottle of white and poured them two generous glasses. Lexi took a short sip, the wine perfectly tangy and cold. She detected the warm smell of soap and noticed that his hair was wet. He’d showered.

Cooper reached past her to return the bottle to the fridge and pulled out the bag of scallops. Lexi took them, grateful for the activity.

“All right, wash-ashore,” she said. “Watch and learn.”

Cooper smiled. “I plan to.”

•   •   •

S
he kept her recipe simple: pan-sear in white wine, garlic, butter, and parsley. Thanks to Jim, she’d been delighted to find a well-stocked fridge and an impressive collection of fresh herbs.

“We’ll cook the scallops first, then take them out and reduce the wine sauce,” Lexi explained as she lowered the plump ivory coins into the shallow puddle of melted butter. Cooper stood beside her at the stove, close enough that their elbows touched, but this time she didn’t shift to force a gap between them. Maybe it was the smooth buzz of the wine, or maybe it was the music. He’d dug up an old clock radio in the closet and found them a local jazz station, the gentle beat lending a perfect pace to their movements at the range.

“How long do they cook?” he asked.

“Not long,” she said, turning them gently with a small spoon. He’d diced a pair of garlic cloves a few minutes earlier, his fingers still fragrant when he lifted his glass. Lexi smiled reflexively. To her, the smell of garlic was one of the sexiest smells on earth. Garlic, newly mowed grass, and old wood. Somehow she’d always associated the three with this house.

“You realize your mother would have a fit if she saw us in here.”

“She never liked to cook,” said Cooper. “She just didn’t like anyone in her kitchen.”

“Including herself,” said Lexi.

Cooper arrived with a plate. She carefully removed the scallops from the pan.

“Now we need the garlic and the wine,” she said. He added the diced cloves while she stirred, the strong scent rising immediately, heady and tangy. Then he drizzled wine over the top until she told him to stop, replenishing their glasses before he returned the bottle to the fridge.

•   •   •

T
hey made a side salad of spinach and avocado, then took their plates and the wine out to the porch, settling into a pair of wicker chairs and pulling the small coffee table between them. The sun was low but the air was still warm, the tide out and lending a salty flavor to the breeze, just as Lexi had remembered.

Cooper raised his glass to hers. “To not ruining fresh scallops,” he toasted.

She smiled, clinking her glass against his.

“So how much longer do you think you’ll need here?” he asked.

“Two more days,” she said. “Maybe three. I still have the master suite to shoot—and, of course, the guest house.” She nodded toward the edge of the lawn where the cottage sat.

“I never knew your parents helped build it,” Cooper said.

Lexi sipped her wine, not surprised. Surely Tucker hadn’t spoken about that summer—or his romance with her mother—to his sons.

“They must have been young when they were here,” said Cooper.

“They were. It was my mother’s first construction job. She was just eighteen. My father was older. Twenty-two, twenty-three. She says they fought constantly. He never let her do what she wanted on the job site.”

Cooper grinned. “They obviously made up.”

“You could say that.”

Cooper took a bite of scallop, moaning approvingly.Lexi tried one of hers. It was flavorful and slightly chewy, the seared edges boasting a slight crunch.

“I’m glad you agreed to this,” Cooper admitted.

“I’m sure you are,” Lexi said, nodding to the scallop he’d just cut into.

He chuckled. “I don’t mean dinner—although I am glad about that too.” He caught her gaze a moment and held it; Lexi could see the warm interest in his eyes. “I mean I’m glad you took the job. I wasn’t sure you’d want to come back here after everything that happened. And I would have understood if you didn’t.”

Lexi took a slow sip of wine, wondering whether they might finally speak of the night he’d taken her home, the kiss that had lingered in her memory.

“Was that night the last time you ever talked to Hud?” he asked.

Lexi considered her glass, not sure how to answer. There had been the requisite pathetic middle-of-the-night phone calls to Hudson in the months after their breakup, some of which he’d picked up, others he’d let the machine take instead, none of which she would have categorized as “talking.” She’d always been sure Laurel was there to screen his calls. It had made her stomach turn and yet she’d kept calling, wanting something from him: closure, peace. The chance to deposit the useless and cumbersome anger he’d left her with, like a closetful of clothes no one wanted. But of course he never did.

She set down her wine. “I can’t remember.”

Cooper pushed his fork through his salad. “I hated Hud for months after all that happened, after what he did. For all I know it’s still why we don’t talk much anymore.”

Lexi studied Cooper’s face as he speared a pile of spinach leaves, unexpectedly moved by his confession.

She smiled at him. “You saved my life that night, you know.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true. I was ready to stumble down to the beach and throw myself into the surf, I was so upset. If you hadn’t come along, I might have done it.”

Cooper looked at her. His smile thinned; his brow knotted with genuine concern. “He wasn’t worth it.”

Lexi lowered her gaze, feeling contrite. “I thought so at the time.”

They fell quiet, the only sound the tinkling of their utensils shifting on their plates and the rustle and hums of the night insects coming out with dusk. Lexi searched the air, expecting fireflies. The lawn shimmered like a blanket of crushed velvet.

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Cooper, “you saved
me
that night too.”

She looked up at him.

“My dad and I had an awful fight.” Cooper reached for his glass. He considered the wine as he swirled it. “He wanted me to apply to Duke, to follow Hud, who’d followed him—to keep the chain going, of course—and I didn’t want to. I had my heart set on the creative writing program at NYU. Dad told me he’d never support my doing that, and I told him I didn’t care, that I’d find a way to pay for it myself.”

“And what did he say?”

“I’m sure you can guess. You remember my dad.”

Though she’d rarely exchanged more than a dozen words with Tucker Moss in all the times she’d come to the cottage, Lexi would never forget the frosty looks he’d sent her way anytime they were in a room together, no matter the occasion. Even as a young woman it had galled her that this man who had jilted her mother couldn’t reveal even an ounce of penitence in the presence of her daughter.

Cooper leaned back in his chair. “So I had this idea I was going to steal his keys and drive his precious Porsche to New York that night.”

“Not really?”

“Really. I was halfway across the driveway when I heard you and Hud fighting in the guest house.”

“You really meant to leave that night?” she asked.

Cooper nodded. “Why do you think I already had the car keys to take you home?”

Lexi blinked at her plate, the thought having never occurred to her at the time. How quickly he’d offered her an escort, how she’d been far too despondent and drunk to find it curious that Tucker would give his eighteen-year-old son permission to take his beloved automobile for a joyride.

“What about after you dropped me off at my apartment?” she asked. “You could have just kept driving.”

“I thought about it.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Cooper met her eyes. “Because I was a kid with a crush, and I thought maybe with Hud gone there was a chance for me.”

Heat rushed across her scalp. Lexi stared expectantly at Cooper. Relief and fear collided. Here it was: the answer about that night that she’d been longing for since she’d seen Cooper, since hearing his voice on her phone.

“I wasn’t sure if you remembered,” she said.

“That I kissed you?” Cooper smiled, still holding her gaze. “You don’t want to know how well I remember that kiss.”

The warmth that had prickled her scalp now rushed down her throat. She reached for her wine.

“What about you?” he asked.

She took a quick sip, then lowered her glass, seeing the wine shudder as she did, proof of her nerves. “Most of that night was a blur,” she confessed, “but I remember that kiss very clearly too.”

He caught her gaze when she’d meant to keep it from him. In the silence, he searched her face, his features fraught with remorse.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you that night,” he said. “You were hurting and I took advantage of a moment.”

She smiled. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. . . .” He grinned sheepishly. “And if I had the chance to do it over, I’d do exactly the same thing.”

Lexi studied him in the fading light, trying to balance her tilting thoughts: the pull of the past, the warm glow of the present. He’d been a teenager then; now he was a man. The dusty blue light of the sky matched the color of his jeans, one side of his face gilded by the slipping sun. And those dimples, deepening like crevices she wanted to sink into.

She dropped her eyes to her glass, nearly empty now. “Did you ever tell anyone about that kiss?” she asked carefully.

“No,” he said. “Did you?”

Lexi shook her head, lifting her eyes to meet his. “Not even Hudson?”

“
Especially
not Hud,” Cooper said, reaching for the bottle to replenish her glass.

“I’m not so sure he would have cared.”

“It wasn’t that,” said Cooper. “I wanted it to be private; I wanted to protect it. I knew Hud would ruin it.”

Warmth filled her at his confession.

“I’m sure there have been plenty of kisses since then,” she said.

He smiled. “Oh, sure. But I’d like to think I’ve improved my skills since that night.”

Show me
, she wished to herself.

“What about you?” he asked.

She met his warm gaze, the urge to confess things to him as swift as the desire to have him show her how good a kisser he’d become in the years since that night.

“There have been a few special men, yes,” she admitted quietly.

“Anyone recently?”

“A man in London. My professor . . .” Lexi glanced up to gauge Cooper’s reaction, expecting to find evidence of his disapproval, but seeing none. “It wasn’t a good fit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And you?” she asked. “Is there anyone in Raleigh?”

“Not anymore. I was living with a woman up until a year ago. She managed a wine store. I learned a great deal about wine. Among other things . . .”

The air quieted between them, their shared stories settling on the growing breeze like a fragrance. Suddenly the years between this night and the one when Hudson left her seemed desperately long, a realization that left her both hopeful and melancholy.

She brushed back her hair. “Life seemed so complicated that night, didn’t it?” she said.

“That’s funny.” Cooper smiled sadly. “I always thought it seemed terrifically simple.”

Lexi looked up to find Cooper’s gaze fixed on her, his eyes tender.

“I don’t know why I said that,” she whispered, feeling her skin grow warm again. “I don’t know why I’m saying
any
of this.”

“You don’t have to stop.”

But she did. Confessions were like bottles of wine; Lexi knew that. One glass always led to another and soon the bottle was drained. She glanced to the bottle between them on the table; they’d nearly emptied this one.

She set down her wine. “I should go.”

T
he irony, of course, was that Lexi had been sure Hudson had brought the champagne that night to celebrate their engagement. After months of his promising “just a little while longer” before they could share their news with the world, she’d been certain that he’d asked her to meet him at the guest house to make the announcement official with his grandmother’s ring. It was only years later, when she looked back on the scene, when she’d been strong enough to dissect the pieces without falling apart, that she realized he’d only brought champagne to soften the blow.

The slow pace of the evening had also been a trick of time. In the moment, it had seemed an eternity from the time he’d arrived to the time he walked back out the door without her, when in truth his dismissal had been brutally swift. But why not? She’d been let go, fired. There would be no fighting for her position, no trying to reason her way back into his heart. Only later did Lexi see that; then, she’d pleaded for one more minute, one more chance, one more explanation—even though he’d made his decision perfectly clear.

He’d chosen Laurel Babcock after all.

“But you told me you didn’t want to be with her.”

“I know I did. But it’s complicated.”

“Only if you let it be.”

“No,” Hudson said, his voice firm now. “It’s complicated because it is. It has nothing to do with letting or not letting. You don’t get it.”

“You’re not like your father,” Lexi said. “You don’t have to want what he wanted.”

“How do you know what I want?” Hudson demanded. “Why does everyone think they know what I want? Maybe
I
don’t even know what I want.”

Hudson dropped into the love seat, his head in his hands. Lexi stared at him, outraged that he thought he got to be the one angry or sad or lost. But what had she expected? Was this scene any different than the one her mother had endured with his father?

Shame pooled in the pit of Lexi’s stomach; still, a stubborn flicker of hope burned.

She moved toward him. “You said I wasn’t like Laurel.”

He answered without lifting his head. “You’re not.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? All this time Lexi had seen her opposition as a victory, when it was actually an insurmountable flaw. Not immediately fatal, but eventually.

Tears rose up Lexi’s throat, fast and choking. She felt the panic of someone who’d had the wind knocked out of her, certain she’d never regain her breath.

That was when she saw Cooper. His form slipped into view just beyond Hudson’s bent head. Cooper called out to her, asked her whether she was all right. Hudson spun to face his brother, said they were fine and to mind his own business, to which Cooper said, “I didn’t ask you; I asked Lexi.” But she couldn’t answer for herself and she knew she didn’t need to. It was clear she was nowhere close to all right.

What came next? Lexi stared at the milky cone of her headlights blooming into the night as she peeled back the layers of her memory.

•   •   •

S
he remembered the sky. The stars strung together like jewelry as she rolled her head against the Porsche’s headrest. She remembered the sound of Cooper’s voice, steady and unwavering. She remembered taking long swigs of champagne and the bubbles stinging her nose. She remembered staring at his hand on the stick shift, the auburn down below his knuckles catching the light of the radio, trying to focus on his fingers. He’d buckled her in. She’d been content to sit slumped in the seat, uncaring whether she was tossed from the car, because what difference did it make now? But he’d pulled the belt across her body and snapped it securely for her. Still, as he steered them down the dark, rutted road, she’d felt as loose as a sheet of paper, hoping the next rush of wind might just lift her out into the atmosphere.

When they’d arrived at her apartment she didn’t get out, and Cooper didn’t seem in any hurry to encourage her. She stared at her feet, aware for the first time that she was barefoot.

“Your shoes are in the back,” he said, reaching behind her for the impossibly high pumps Hudson had bought for her months earlier, shoes she would never have worn in a million years on her own, shoes that made her whole body ache the day after she’d worn them, but for Hudson she’d suffered the pain gladly. Now she hurled them, one at a time, out into the empty street, the action thrilling.

“Feel better?” Cooper asked.

She nodded, sniffed. But the relief was fleeting. In his eyes she saw pity—or something close. Shame pushed its way through the soft clouds of her champagne fog. Lexi stared out at the street, wondering how this could be the same street she’d left three hours earlier. It looked the same but it wasn’t. In three hours her whole world had crumbled, so where was the evidence here? She needed to see proof that the universe was as ruined as she was. But all around her, life went on untouched, uncaring.

Except for Cooper beside her.

She swung her gaze to his, needing to find the anchor of his eyes.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” she whispered.

“We can keep driving,” he said. “We can just
go
.”

Go
. Lexi loved the sound of that. Maybe that would be best: to just let him take her away. In the car, speeding along the water, she could pretend the night had never happened, that Hudson would still be waiting for her back at the guest house, wondering what was holding her up.

She nodded, the raw need in her voice startling to her as she answered,
“Yes.”

•   •   •

H
e drove them up and down the coast for almost two hours. She’d felt certain the whole ride that she’d fall into a deep sleep; her eyes were so swollen and aching from crying, and yet she’d remained awake, frighteningly so, wondering whether she might never fall asleep again. Everything reminded her of Hudson. Everywhere. There was nowhere safe to point her gaze that didn’t hurt.

Except at Cooper.

At Nauset, he pulled them into the parking lot and turned off the car. Stars blinked in a sea of endless black. Lexi looked up and blinked back at them.

“Nights like this I always wish I knew the constellations,” Cooper said. “Do you know any of them?”

She shook her head.

“We could always make some up,” he said brightly, lifting his hand and pointing to her right. “That one there looks kind of like a can of motor oil, don’t you think? And that one there . . .” His finger swerved to the left. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t look exactly like a slice of pizza.”

She rolled her head toward him, giving in to a small laugh. Lexi knew what he was doing, and she was grateful to him. For a while longer she stared at the night sky, her amusement thinning, her ache returning. She looked at Cooper and found him watching the view, his eyes narrowed wistfully, where the dunes slipped into the darkness, the sound of the water just beyond.

“I came to this beach with my first surfboard,” he said.

She sniffed. “I didn’t know you were a surfer.”

“I’m not,” he said with a sigh. “I knocked myself out on the board within the first ten minutes I was in the water. Blood everywhere. Two lifeguards brought me in. It was utterly humiliating. I was twelve and my dad made me promise I’d never get back on a board again.”

“So you didn’t?”

“Of course I did.” He grinned at her. “The day the stitches came out, I was right back here.”

Lexi watched him as he spoke, thinking how much older he looked to her, how she had never noticed the way he’d been aging all these summers, how handsome he’d become. How remarkably different he looked from Hudson. Why had she never noticed?

“It’s cold,” Cooper said suddenly, reaching down to start the engine again. “I should get you home and warm.”

•   •   •

T
hey said little driving back, letting the sound of the radio fill the air between them until they were in front of her apartment again.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Lexi shook her head.

“Do you want me to take you somewhere
else
?”

Again, she shook her head.

Cooper looked pensive. Regret bubbled up inside her. What did she expect from him? He was only eighteen, and he’d drained his gas tank to make her feel better.

“I’m sorry,” she said, crying again.

“Why are
you
sorry?” he asked. “Because you trusted someone and he turned out to be a creep?”

“He’s your brother.”

“He’s an ass.”

She licked a fat tear off her lip. “I’m such a fool.” She turned to look at him.

He reached out and wiped at a new tear with his thumb, the gesture so swift and certain that Lexi gasped, shocked at her body’s response to his touch. Crazy as it was, she wanted his hands on her again, wanted the fingers that had gripped the gearshift moments earlier to possess her with the same conviction, the same sense of purpose.

“You’re not a fool,” he said. “You just fell in love with the wrong brother.”

The wrong brother.
She stared at him for a long moment, the champagne making it hard to hold on to his words, though she understood, even blurry with alcohol, that he meant them. Overcome suddenly with emotion, Lexi leaned over to kiss his cheek, to thank him for helping her home, to say good night, or maybe to feel him near. But at the last moment, he turned his face and caught her lips, landing his mouth squarely on hers and keeping it there until she pulled away, a slight and slow retreat.

Her mind spun; desire and sorrow knotted in one terrible tangle. She fumbled for the door handle, shivering now with chill. Cooper reached across to still her hand. “Wait.” In the next instant, he was at her door, helping her out, walking her up her stairs and inside. When he’d settled her under a blanket on the couch, she felt her body finally quiet its tremors and slip into sleep.

A moment later, she opened her eyes to thank him, to wish him back, but Cooper was gone.