It wasn’t.
Feeling guilty for preempting Erik’s tour, she couldn’t resist her curiosity and pushed the door open. The cottage was dimly lit by the moonlight through the windows, but she could make out a cozy cabin with all the comforts of home—even what appeared to be a tiny kitchen. This was her kind of luxury.
Feeling the need to be quiet, even though there was no way Erik could hear her, she tiptoed around the couch, past the fireplace, toward stairs to what turned out to be a charming bedroom with a wall of windows facing the lake. She crossed to the bed, a king on a frame high enough that sleepers could easily see the view, climbed on it and shuffled on her knees toward the glass to look out at the water. Somewhere close by, a loon called out, a long, mournful cry and trill. What a wonderful place to sleep, tucked away almost in the woods, yet close to the lake. If this were her property, she wouldn’t go near the big house.
Erik wouldn’t even have to know if she slept there tonight. She’d wake up early with the sun most likely, and be back in the main house before he stirred. Judging by how often he was late to work in the mornings, he was not an early riser.
She pulled back the covers to find soft cotton sheets waiting for her. The pillows were piled high, real down pillows like those at Dad’s, the kind her family hadn’t been able to afford. They always had enough to eat?that was their luxury.
Temptation warred inside her with a touch of anxiety. This wasn’t her home. Erik had his mother’s room prepared for her. There might be some reason she shouldn’t be out here. Maybe Jonas would want to stay in the cottage when he arrived the next day.
Or it might be completely fine.
Unable to decide, she cheated by lying down on top of the bed, scooting to the side closest to the windows. Within minutes she was yawning, as if it were completely natural to her body to sleep there. Giving in with only a slight qualm, she fished out her earplugs, put them in and let herself drift off.
* * *
JONAS INCHED HIS Toyota Camry to a halt a few yards from his brother’s beloved Mercedes sports coupe. The wind had picked up considerably in the last half hour, so there was little chance Erik or Allie would hear him arrive. He cut the engine, got out and inhaled the gusting lake air greedily. It was nice to be back. Assuming the place sold quickly, this would probably be his last pleasure trip here. Visits from now on would involve packing, sorting, throwing stuff away...
He didn’t want to think about that now.
Lifting his bag out of the backseat, he closed the door and walked up to the dark, still house, where Erik and Allie were sleeping. Alone? Together? Alone tonight at least, he decided. Erik would wait until Allie was comfortable here before he made the big move.
For a full minute, Jonas stood in the clearing, gazing at Morningside. Again, he was gripped by emotions—longing, pleasure, affection. Many years of good times in that house, going back as far as his recollections.
A burst of wind brought the first drops of rain and he turned toward the cottage, which Clarissa, the wife of their caretaker, George, kept cleaned, aired out and well-stocked, as well as the house. He’d texted Erik that he’d be arriving a day early but wasn’t sure his brother had read the message, since he hadn’t replied. Barging into the house unexpectedly could be an unpleasant surprise. Jonas didn’t want his second meeting with Allie to take place in the middle of the night after he’d just terrified her. And he wasn’t in the mood to face his brother’s smug I’m-gonna-score-this-weekend certainty.
A grumble of thunder quickened his steps across the neatly mown grass that managed to grow in the sandy soil by the house. He stepped into the cottage just as the storm hit, wiped a drop of rain off his forehead and grinned at the familiar, dimly lit interior. This had been his refuge when he was too teenager-cool for his old room and his parents.
He spent a few minutes walking around, touching old memories. Still-life paintings his grandmother Bridget had done of flower gardens and seashell-strewn beaches. Knickknacks bought on various family trips abroad—his mother’s clan had been avid travelers. Fertility figures from Ghana, nesting dolls from Russia, stone turtles from Hawaii...
Wind and rain buffeted the house, making creaks that sounded like soft footsteps overhead. Jonas unpacked his toiletry kit, brushed his teeth and washed his face in the kitchen sink. The upstairs, with no windows facing west, would be black as a cave, and he’d forgotten to bring a flashlight. The little cottage had never been wired for electric power.
Lightning illuminated the stairs as he made his way toward them. He loved lying in bed watching storms like this blow over the water.