“This place, Killian!” I exclaim.
“Needs a little TLC. But the spot is great. Lots of space. Didn’t know if I wanted to renovate it or build new, but decided to renovate for now.”
“It’s amazing,” I say, taking it all in. “I’m glad you haven’t torn it down. This place has huge potential.”
He’s staring, intently.
I smile and his expression brightens.
“Could you see yourself here some weekends, summers?” he asks.
I startle and he chuckles. He’s teasing me. I think.
I smile while I shake my head and give him an assessing look. “Killian Coulter, you have got no chill,” I tell him.
He smirks. “Where you’re concerned? Zero.”
“I can take that.” I reach for my bag. “All I’m carrying is my purse and laptop bag.”
“Forget it. Get inside. You’re lucky I have no free hands or I’d swat this ass.”
I raise my brows. “You’re recovering. Behave.”
“I promise nothing and will likely deliver even less,” he mutters, eyes on my butt.
I snicker as we step inside together and definitely, this place needs some love, but screams potential.
The furnishings are old, not much of them in the front of the house, and what’s here must have been left from the previous owners. The great room is wood paneled walls with a massive grey stone fireplace. There are lots of windows and a lovely view of the water.
To the side of the great room, a staircase climbs up and a hallway leads back deeper into the house.
“How big is this house?”
“About seventy-five hundred square feet. Was owned by a large family that kept building onto the original structure, which we’re in. The upstairs used to be three bedrooms but converted to one big one and a massive bathroom. They kept building onto the back and adding multiple living spaces. Got three kitchens. Six bathrooms. There’s an apartment over the garage. A small granny flat Bunkie at the back of the property, too. Basement has a full apartment, too, but it’s old and shit, so it’s bein’ gutted. I’m renovating from down there upwards. Get my man cave done first.”
“Typical,” I tease, “But that’s a whole lotta space for a weekend and summer getaway. My parents used to rent the same cottage for a week every year down the coast from here and it was only a little bigger than my apartment. Puny. And half the time we’d have all our cousins, friends and family come, air mattresses taking up every square inch to fit us all. Sometimes we’d pitch tents outside, the cabin was so overflowing. So much fun.”
The boy with the groceries walks past us, on his second trip with another box and bags dangling off his wrists.
“It does sound fun,” Killian says with a small smile. “Didn’t know any of my cousins. Woulda liked growing up like that. I’ll get the fire started,” he adds, heading to the big fireplace. “Place needs a new furnace. We’ve got four fireplaces, though. And some baseboard heaters if we need ‘em.”
There’s a long old couch and a battered coffee table in front of the big fireplace, but not much else in the room. Beyond the staircase, I see a huge dining area with another weathered table, this one with eight chairs covered with pink upholstery. Some of the pale pink and mint green floral wallpaper is peeling. I find a bathroom beyond the dining room and use it. It’s got an antique pedestal sink and the mirror is definitely ancient, blackened in some spots. I look out the window at the water lapping at the rocky shoreline. This place – I’m in love with the potential.
After washing my hands, I go right and find a huge but outdated kitchen. I’m a bit in love with it, though. It’s a massive family kitchen with a fireplace. I can pick out part of the original house that was extended at some stage, clearly the first addition.
There’s a massive butcher’s block table in the middle with a dozen stools around it and to the side, a big fireplace with a cooking section. I can imagine Killian using it to make pizza.
“This is definitely the heart of this place,” I say. “I love it. Pizza oven? No wonder you bought this place.”
He reaches into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of water.
“Make you pizza tomorrow. From scratch.” He kisses my temple. “No pineapple,” he adds under his breath. “Fuckin’ abomination.”
“If loving pineapple on my pizza is wrong, I’ll never be right.” I shake my head robustly.
He snickers.
The teenager comes back, saying, “Last box,” after he deposits it on the butcher’s block. Killian reaches out and shakes his hand, handing him cash while he does it. “Much appreciated.”
“Thanks, man.” He eyeballs the cash in his hand and his eyes light up. “And I’m John. You think you need help with anything else? Here’s my number. You want me to come, cut your grass, do any handyman work, need anything dropped off, lemme know. I’m savin’ for college.” He pulls a business card from his back pocket and palms it to the counter and then smiles at me. “Have a good time, guys.”
“I’ll definitely be callin’ you, John,” Killian says. “In fact, I’ll walk you out.”
“Thank you,” I call out.
John waves and Killian heads out with him, saying, “Got a lot of shit to do here and will definitely be able to use some help.”
They’re gone, so I eyeball the supplies. There are a lot of them. A lot. I start unbagging a large selection of meat. Some of this will probably have to come back to Portland with us. We’re not going to be here more than a few days. Even though Shara said I can take up to a week working remotely, I don’t want to take the whole week, don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage. And I haven’t done anything yet today, so will be on my laptop soon trying to get some work done.
Killian is back.
“Way too much food here; we’re only here for a bit,” I say and then I open the fridge and see plenty of items already in there. I open the freezer and it, too, has supplies. It’s about half full with meat, frozen entrees, a half bottle of vodka.
“Um… what’s all this?”
“I spent the week here. The other week, when we were… uh…” He scratches his temple.
“Oh.” Realization dawns. When he wasn’t around that week. “You weren’t away on business?”
“I was giving you space. Giving me space, I…” His expression darkens, “malfunctioned. I took a couple days to reflect.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not malfunctioning now,” he says and pulls me into his arms. “Told Patricia to make sure there was a lot of apple juice.” He puts his lips to mine and his voice has gone husky.
“Apple juice?” I whisper against his mouth.
“Mm hm,” he says and then he lifts me up by the hips and sets me on the counter.
My belly flipflops.
“You shouldn’t be lifting me.”
This is a different countertop than the one he wanted to christen when he asked me to move in, but it still feels pretty poignant.
“Arms aren’t broken, Violet.”
“No, but…”