My brows shoot up. “A pirate?” I bleat.
Zack puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me gently to face him, murmuring, “Maybe hearing about the pirate isn’t the best choice right now? What do you think?”
“I think maybe you’re right,” I say, biting my lip. “I can’t decide what’s stronger, though, my curiosity about a real-life pirate or my desire to sleep soundly tonight.”
“We can find another place,” Zack repeats softly. “There’s no pressure. As long as I know I get to see you in the morning, I’ll be happy no matter where we sleep.”
My lips curve, and my chest fills with more happy bubbles. “Me, too.” I sigh, and the tension seeps from my shoulders. “I say we give it a try. If it gets too scary, we can always move later.”
“Perfect choice,” Jed says, taking Zack’s suitcase. “And you won’t have to move. You love birds are going to fit right in here.” He starts up the path to the front door, and Zack and I trail behind him. “Hope you don’t mind me sticking my nose in, but you’ve got great couple energy. I see big things for you. A lot of years, a lot of babies, maybe a farm.” He glances over his shoulder with a wink. “People think I’m crazy, but I have a sixth sense about stuff like this. It’s why I got ordained as an internet minister. I’ve had more than one couple ask me to do the honors.”
Zack arches a brow my way, but I shake my head. There’s no point in telling this sweet man that we’re not a couple—at least not in the marriage-in-our-future kind of way. Let him think whatever he wants, and I’ll cross my fingers that at least a part of his prophecy comes true.
Lots of babies would be amazing, but just one would be all I need to keep believing in miracles.
“You aren’t talking too much again, are you?” A petite woman with lively brown eyes appears in the front doorway, a dishtowel bunched in her hands. “I apologize for my husband. He has no filter.”
“I do, too,” Jed says good-naturedly as he pauses to kiss the top of the woman’s head. “It’s just a little loose, like the rest of me.”
She grins, tucking the towel under her arm as she swats his bottom with one hand. “Isn’t that the truth? Put the bags in the Rose Suite, Loosey Goosey, and we can move these lovely people later if they decide they prefer another room.” She extends a hand my way as Jed moves inside. “I’m Nancy. If you need anything practical while you’re here, ask me. Jed’s the best storyteller around, but he forgets anything he doesn’t write down, and he hasn’t written anything down since the eighties.”
“I resemble that remark,” Jed calls from deeper in the house as Nancy shakes Zack’s hand and bustles us inside for a tour of the ground floor that ends in the kitchen.
“I serve meals in the sunroom unless you specifically ask for service in the dining room,” she says, leading us through an unexpectedly modern kitchen adjacent to a glassed-in room filled with plants, cushy furniture, and a table for six. “It’s so pretty in there, and that table has the best view of the pool and the yard.”
“This will be great,” Zack says. “Are those fruit trees at the back of the property?”
Nancy nods. “Cherry and peach, and there’s an apple orchard over the rise and down the hill to the left. The cherries are peaking now, so pick as many as you like. And if you decide to extend your stay, we’ll have peaches ready soon. Either way, I have peach preserves from last year I’ll serve with your french toast tomorrow.”
“That sounds amazing, thank you,” Zack says, squeezing my hand. He looks as excited as I feel, which is kind of amazing considering he’s stayed in fabulous hotels all over the world.
I love that he can still appreciate this beautiful place and something as simple as peach preserves.
“There’s a trail into town behind the recording cottage,” Nancy says, squinting out the window. “It’s about three miles to the turnoff into Little River. Great on the way to dinner, but it can get chilly on the way back, and there aren’t any taxis up here in the boonies. But Jed is always up late—too many years on the road with the band to change him now—and he’s happy to come pick you up. His number is on the whiteboard by the door, so just program that into your cells when you get the chance.”
“I thought I recognized him,” I say, his familiar face snicking into place. “Jed played for The Holler Boys, didn’t he?”
Nancy turns to me, a surprised smile tugging the corners of her lips. “He did. But almost no one places him. Especially people your age.”