“Treasure hunting?” Playing in the tree fort really has his imagination running.
“It’s… well, it’s difficult to explain.” Tessa sheepishly lowers her gaze toward her feet. “It’s more like finding hidden treasure. Only not hidden.”
When she glances up at me, she must see the confusion on my face. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“We look for inspiration pieces in nature…for art.”
I’m still puzzled.
“You know, sometimes you’re walking along and find a rock shaped like a heart. Or see a face in a tree trunk.”
I continue to stare at her beautiful eyes, wondering what the hell she’s talking about.
“Anyway, we collect items or capture the image on film.” She gazes fondly at her little man and smiles, scooping her hand over his helmet-mussed hair. “But first, we need lunch.”
“Macaroni and cheese,” he states, clasping his fingers together and batting his lashes at his mother.
“Again?” She laughs, the sound light and easy compared to the normally tense woman running this inn.
“Please.” He puckers his lips. Damn, he’s good.
If I beg like that, will his mother kiss me again? The thought straightens my spine. “Okay, well, you guys enjoy lunch. I’ll just…” I hitch my thumb, pointing over my shoulder.
“Do you like macaroni and cheese, Noah?” Jonas asks.
“I—”
“Mom makes it from this blue box, and if you like M and C, maybe she will make it for both of us.”
“M and C?” I chuckle.
“Like a PB and J,” Jonas clarifies.
“A PB and J without the J?” I arch a brow, recalling the disagreement from the first minutes of meeting Tessa.
Tessa scoffs, shaking her head. “Okay, okay. No need to drag Noah into your ploy. I don’t think Noah is a macaroni and cheese kind of guy.” Her gaze lands on my belly and lingers, and I can’t help myself when I pat my firm stomach.
“And just what kind of guy am I?”
“Not M and C,” she mutters, her voice a sigh, her lips pursing.
Despite my dislike for processed food or powdered cheese, I say, “I’ll have you know I love M and C.” I glance down at Jonas. “Bring on the blue box.”
Jonas pumps his little arm. “Yes!” Then he surprises both Tessa and me by grabbing my hand and leading me down the hallway to the owner’s apartment.
8
[Noah]
“I’m sorry,” Tessa states. “He can be a lot.” Jonas has gone to his room for a moment, and she smiles while apologizing for her son’s twenty questions, give or take a hundred extra, which he asked during lunch.
In response to Tessa’s apology, I shake my head. “He’s great.” I’m sitting on one of two stools at a peninsula cabinet while Tessa stands on the other side.
How old was I? How long did I live in the house with the tree ship? How long did I live in Chicago? What was my favorite thing about living there? What was my favorite thing about being back here?
My first thought was the lake. While I’d lived on the other side of Lake Michigan, with a crystal-clear view of the water from both my condo and the hotel where I worked, the lake scene was different on this side of the water. The view was peaceful, calming, and rejuvenating.
I didn’t have a plan when I decided to move to the area after all these years. I only knew I needed out of Chicago. I’d been living off the severance package given to me when I was let go from the Magellen. Then I grew bored. When I saw the posting for a position at the inn, after months of doing nothing but searching for management openings at Caribbean resorts and European spas, I applied.
As I glance around Tessa’s apartment, my favorite thing about being back in Lakeside shifts. When we first entered her room, she was quick to fold up a blanket on the couch and tuck it along with a bed pillow into a trunk. Her eyes avoided mine as she hustled to clear her countertop of markers and paper, stashing the items in an upright metal basket. The space is tight for two people, and the pinch to my brow gave away my unasked questions.
Where the fuck is Jonas’s dad? And why are the two of them crammed into this one-bedroom apartment?
On the wall in her living room is photograph after photograph, but oddities are captured in every one of them. Books are rising up from a pile of leaves. The pages are open and flapping in the fall breeze, windblown like scattering of leaves.
Another image highlights Jonas standing in the lake, his arms rising and what should be water droplets spraying out around him are minnows. The tiny fish hang in the summer air as if springing from his skin, desperate to return to the lake.
“Those pictures are amazing.” My voice is full of awe. I’ve shifted on the stool to point in the direction of one. “Is that your father?”
A man stands behind a large tree trunk, peering around the base to look at the camera. On the other side is Jonas, glancing around the thick base in the same manner.
“My father never met Jonas, but through double exposure, I was able to put them both in the same image.”
I nod, concentrating on another row of images. Bent twigs. Heart-shaped rocks. A splash of sand. My eyes narrow. “Do you create images from things you collect in nature? Is that what was spread out on the table in the artist cottage that you didn’t want me to touch?”
When I turn back to her, her head hangs. She doesn’t look at me but shrugs.
“You’re an artist.” My tone sounds incredulous, but it’s more awe-filled. She’s creative and talented.
“Jonas’s father was an artist, not me.” She scoffs, dismissing the compliment as if I’ve insulted her. Her fingers drag along the edge of the counter much like they did the afternoon I found her in the artist cottage.
“Who says?”
Tessa shrugs. “Well…” She bitterly chuckles. “Jonas’s dad did.” Glancing over my shoulder at the wall of photos, she has that zoned-out look on her face. “Isaiah was a sculptor. Our resident artist, like my mother had been when I was born. And I took pictures for him. Amateur photographs,” she emphasizes. “But I like to play around in graphic programs and change up the images a bit.”
Her gaze drifts back to me.
“He was wrong. I’ve been to galleries. These are good.”
“It’s only a hobby,” she downplays. “The inn is my passion.”
“Can’t you have more than one?” I’m not certain where the question comes from. I can’t think of anything I’m passionate about other than having a good time. But even what I consider a good time has become questionable in the past nine months.
Tessa laughs. “I guess so, as I love Jonas more than anything.”
I smile, hesitant but needing to ask. “What happened to his dad?”
Tessa tips her head as if checking that Jonas can’t hear her. “He didn’t want children. When I ended up pregnant, he was furious. But he gave it his best.” She scoops her arm through the air emphasizing the ol’ college try.