The house looked as solemn as ever with all the drapes drawn. I debated taping my note onto the front door and running but decided that if I wanted to meet Daire, I needed to ring the bell and insist upon hand-delivering my letter.
I rang the doorbell. The double glass doors looked exactly like mine, except bigger, and were framed by the same planters with asparagus ferns and lavender. I could smell the pungent herb and remembered it was noted for being calming. I was unaccountably nervous and took a big inhale to see if it helped. A little. Maybe. That or I’d been holding my breath and my brain was suddenly getting oxygen again.
Not hearing any response, I rang the bell again. I wondered if this was going to get me in trouble with another note. Did Daire have rules about how many times a person could ring the doorbell or how long exactly a person should wait between each pressing of the button? Probably.
I debated ringing again when the door was pulled open. I was expecting Jackson or perhaps the crotchety old man himself. What I got was a pretty, middle-aged woman. She had to be Juan’s wife, Lupita. She was softly rounded with big brown eyes, shoulder-length dark hair styled in a long bob, and a wide smile.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Hi, I’m Annabelle Martin,” I said.
“I know,” she answered. She glanced me over from head to toe and her smile deepened. “I’m Lupita Guzman. I heard you met my husband.”
“I did,” I said. “He has excellent taste in classic country music.”
“He said the same about you.” Her eyes twinkled.
I glanced past her, trying to see into the dark house. Was Mr. Daire standing behind her? Could he see me? Should I call out a greeting? Would she invite me in?
It was impossible to see anything. I decided to go for it. “Is Mr. Daire in? I have a note for him.”
Her smile dimmed. Much like the moment I mentioned Mr. Daire to her husband, the lightness went out of the conversation. Was the guy that bad? Maybe he was a miserable boss, and the Guzmans didn’t know how to break away from him.
“I can deliver the note,” she said. She held out her hand, but I didn’t give it to her.
“I’d rather take it to him in person.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Her smile made a flickering return, and she said, “I’ll go see if he’s available.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the door, and I waited on the front stoop. I felt like a door-to-door salesperson, trying to unload my thirty-two-volume set of the Encyclopedia Britannica in a world where everyone just wanted to ask Siri or Alexa. I mean, who hand-delivered letters anymore? How very last century this was.
I realized that I liked that about Daire’s notes, even though they were sort of grumpy. The fact that he was committing thoughts, okay, directives to paper and delivering them, or having them delivered, was so delightfully old school of him, I was charmed in spite of myself.
I wandered around the front terrace. I glanced up at the windows, wondering which room Mr. Daire was in. I tried to look friendly and nonthreatening on the chance that he glanced out the window. Had that drapery just moved? I couldn’t tell. I tried to look casual and pretended to be studying the lavender. It was an effort.
In minutes, Lupita returned. She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t look as if she’d just been chewed out either. It was more a look of disapproval, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it wasn’t directed at me, which meant she was miffy with the boss man. Interesting.
“He isn’t available,” she said.
“For the moment or the entire day?” I asked. “Because I can come back later.”
She sighed. “For the duration of your stay, I’m afraid.”
My eyes went wide. “He said that?”
She nodded.
“But my lease is for six months!”
Again, she nodded.
“He’s really planning to avoid me for six months,” I said. “Does that even seem possible?”
“Mr. Daire can be very . . . determined,” she said. I sensed she’d revised on the fly what she really wanted to say.
I met her gaze. “So can I.”
A slow smile curved her lips and made her eyes sparkle. “That’s what I was hoping. I think you might be just what he needs.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I handed her my response and asked, “Would you please give him this message?”
“Of course,” she said. “Happy to. It’ll give him something else to think about.”
“Thanks,” I said. I stepped back and glanced up at the large windows on the second floor. The drapes twitched back into place.
That did it. Mr. Daire could try to avoid me for the entirety of my stay, but I was going to meet him one way or another. I waved to Mrs. Guzman as I walked down the steps and set out in the direction of the guest house.
Questions. I had so many questions, it felt as if my brain were on fire. Was it just me? Or was Daire like this with everyone? I wanted to ask Miguel and Sophie, but given their insistence that I keep my distance, I didn’t want them to know that Daire and I were having issues and were struggling to communicate.
Well, I was struggling. He seemed just fine with the chastising notes and such. Me, not so much. I simply had to meet him, break through his self-imposed isolation, and make him be my friend. Newly determined, I glanced over my shoulder back at the house one more time.
This time I saw a man in the window, watching me. Surprised, I stumbled to a halt. Staring at me from the second-story window was the most breathtakingly beautiful man I’d ever seen.
11
I had barely registered his high cheekbones, square jaw, full lips, arching eyebrows, and piercing gaze when the drapes snapped shut and he disappeared from view.
I wanted to ask Mrs. Guzman who he was, but she’d already gone inside and shut the door. Who was this slice of cake in man form? Was he related to Mr. Daire? A son? A grandson? Or did he work for him? An assistant? A doctor? A nurse? I had to know.
Not that I was interested in him as anything other than a curiosity, I told myself. I mean for all I knew, he could be a lawyer, and given Mr. Daire’s annoyance with me, the handsome man might come knocking on my door for a little legal chitchat. Okay, that should not have thrilled me as much as it did. Maybe I needed to reconsider Sophie’s advice and get back out there.
Much to my relief—read: disappointment—the handsome man did not come knocking. Instead, I spent the rest of Saturday and Sunday attempting to make my new house look more like a home on the cheap. Plants were critical and some color. The austere interior of the house needed softening, so I bought pillows and throws in vibrant ruby reds, and some vintage ceramic canisters for the kitchen counter, also in red.