The Cottage: Love on Charlotte Island Series, #4

Chapter 1

She burnt the toast. Again. Stephanie Madison raced down the hallway, hairbrush stuck in her dark, unruly hair, and skidded into the kitchen. She yanked the toaster door open, removed the charred remains with the tip of a fork, and shook a damp towel in the direction of the shrieking smoke detector.

But she wasn't quick enough. Two dogs down the street howled, setting up conversational barking throughout the neighborhood.

Cereal again, dear? her mother asked, making her way slowly with the assistance of a walker.

Stephanie stared guiltily at the clock. Another morning overtaken by zealous reading.

Sorry, Mom. I got caught up in a new book. Reaching up to remove the tangled brush from her hair, she discovered the novel still clutched in her hand.

Must be a good story. Her mother eased into the chair, favoring one leg. You've always been a reading bug. Even as a wee thing.

You're too good to me. Stephanie kissed her mom on the cheek. She pulled out the blue speckled cereal bowls they had used since she was a kid.

You're all I've got in the world, her mom replied, smoothing out the daily paper and adjusting her reading glasses.

As Stephanie started to close the cabinet door, she noticed the crumpled edge of an envelope jammed between two plates.

Mom, tell me you're not getting dotty. I just found an electric bill in with the dishes.

What? Oh, I must have had it in my hands when I was putting things away. Mrs. Madison appeared unperturbed.

I'll take care of it later. Stephanie tucked the bill into her purse. Maybe she should have insisted taking over the family's finances when her father passed.

A sliver of worry gnawed the edges of her mind. The dentist called last week to report several missed appointments. Was her mother getting senile? Now in her seventies, Mrs. Madison and her husband had adopted Stephanie as an infant in their forties.

You should get out more while I'm at work. Stephanie sniffed the carton of milk from the refrigerator. Had she purchased it this week?

Mrs. Madison smiled. I'll make more of an effort if you will.

Stephanie sighed. She knew her mother thought she spent too much time alone. You know I've got work every day. I'm usually too tired to do anything afterward.

What she didn't bother saying was that most of her friends had moved on. Several were already married and busy with new families. Barbara, her best friend from high school, accepted a position in Boston after graduating from Boston University. She rarely had time to visit.

Stephanie's other friends ventured even further. One took a job in Chicago. Another lived in California.

Maybe you should reconsider college. Mrs. Madison folded the paper to the crossword puzzle section. Even take a course or two to see. Maybe one of those contractors licensing classes you and your dad talked about.

Stephanie spooned a mouthful of cereal into her mouth so she couldn't respond right away. Her mother had good intentions. But they had discussed this subject on more than one occasion.

Stephanie didn't know what she wanted. The contractor license dream? That only existed while her father lived. She couldn't imagine doing it alone.

She had worked at the library since high school. She needed a degree in library science to advance. But that didn't feel right either.

The library isn't so bad, she finally murmured when it became clear her mother was waiting for a response.

Mrs. Madison shook her head. But you don't want to get the extra training that would give you more opportunity?

Stephanie glanced up at the sunburst clock on the mint green wall. How had it gotten so late?

Sorry, mom, but I've got to rush if I want to make it to work on time.

Grabbing her jacket and purse, she bolted out the front door. But her mother's question stayed with her. Of course she wished she had more money. More job responsibilities. But did she want her whole life devoted to the library? No. She wanted more.

Secretly, she wanted the life of one of the characters in her books. A life with purpose and true love. A happily ever after.

Unfortunately, it was highly unlikely that the love of her life was going to just come marching through the doors of the library like some mythical knight in shining armor.

Besides, she didn't want a rescue. She wanted a partner in love and life.

It wasn't until later that morning that Stephanie remembered the unopened bill from the electric company. She absently opened it at her desk. The total shocked her. There must be some mistake, she thought. According to the bill, the account had not been paid in several months. A dark red note threatened a service shut off.

Stephanie, I need you to cover the front desk for the next two hours. Mrs. Grimshaw sped by, her high heels clicking on the wooden planks.

The glimpse of her supervisor's tailored business suit reminded Stephanie of her recent job review. Stephanie had agreed to dress more professionally. She glanced down, realizing she had grabbed her oldest skirt, a comfortable but worn fabric frayed along the edges.

She sighed. Her friend Barbara had been the fashionable one. Stephanie veered toward comfort. She dreaded the thought of a solo shopping trip.

Stephanie wandered out to the front desk and settled herself. Did she really belong here? Did she want to stay? Was her reluctance to dress better her subconscious telling her she wanted to be elsewhere?

As she poured over the list of overdue books, CDs and DVDs, Stephanie daydreamed. She stood in a summer garden and a man, his face in shadows, laughed at something she said. She thought he might be about to kiss her when she was interrupted by a stern voice.

Stephanie?

Stephanie snapped her head up. Yes, Mrs. Grimshaw?

Her supervisor tapped pink, perfectly manicured nails on the counter. You are a million miles away.

Sorry, Mrs. Grimshaw. I'm a little worried about my mother. Stephanie felt guilty about the fib.

Do you need to go home, dear?

What? Oh, no! But I found an unpaid bill in our kitchen cabinet this morning. I'm wondering if there are other things she's forgetting.

Mrs. Grimshaw put a hand on Stephanie's shoulder. Just let me know if you need some time off. Maybe think about your future. I've always enjoyed you working here.

She paused as though considering her next words. Honestly, I wonder if there is something else out there that you'd rather be doing?

The blood rushed to Stephanie's face. Thank you, ma'am. I'll let you know if I need the time off.

Fortunately, Mrs. Grimshaw was not the sort of person to linger and chat. With a quick look at her organizer, she trotted off down the hall in search of her next mission.

The tension in Stephanie's shoulder eased, and she slumped in her seat. She would rather be thinking about the stranger in her daydreams. She sighed and got back to work. Concentrated on reality rather than fairy tale endings. She was starting to think that those would never apply to her.

Chapter 2

The weather swollen door of the old cottage creaked as Finn Whitcomb shoved it open using the full weight of his shoulder. He hadn't remembered the door getting stuck when he toured the house with the Realtor. But now that he thought about it, the door had already been open when he arrived. How many more surprises would pop up today?

He reached for the light switch subconsciously before laughing at himself. The Realtor recommended having a professional look at the whole system for possible upgrades. Which was why Finn was here at seven o'clock in the morning. He would rather have still been sleeping in the comfortable bed at the Charlotte Inn.

He hoped the electrician showed up on time. He hadn't bothered to shower or even grab a cup of coffee yet. He already craved his caffeine fix.

The early morning light filtering through the grimy windows revealed just how dirty and neglected the place was. Starting upstairs, he gripped the staircase rail as one of the rotting wooden steps cracked beneath his foot. Looking up, he saw old water stains, probably from a plumbing issue. Had those been there before?

He shook his head. For the first time since his rash purchase, he felt a twinge of doubt. What in the world had he been thinking? This wasn't simply a matter of tidying up. The house was falling apart. No wonder the Realtor had been so pleasant. She must have thought that he was a rich nutcase to buy this place after one quick glimpse.

He continued up the stairs, still impressed with the beautiful curves of the antique banisters. Yes, he was a bit insane. But he could imagine the magnificent structure beneath the neglect, dust, and grime. With the right amount of money, he could have the best professionals restore the house to its natural glory.

But that was the sore spot. Most of his savings had gone into just getting the place. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. His life felt stagnant. Even though his wife Maggie had died two years earlier in a car accident, he hadn't felt any rush to date anyone seriously.

He and Maggie had been married for a little over three years. He wished that she had been happier. But she had always expected so much more from him than he felt he could provide. She was the one to push for him to quit Architecture School so that he could get a job more quickly. And at the time, he hadn't minded.

But after awhile, the allure of steady cash and nice vacations paled. Going to work took effort every morning. His corporate job helped other people get rich, but Finn regretted not having a positive effect on the world.

Opening the door to one of the upstairs bedrooms, Finn narrowly missed getting conked in the head by a piece of falling ceiling plaster. More water damage? He didn't want to think about the cost of roof repairs. Why had he thought he could manage this disaster?

He was tempted to call his boss, admit he had made a mistake, and crawl back to his employer. But imagining the smug look on Craig's face prevented him from following through. Besides, he had half a year to make a go of this. A six month leave of absence to see if he could make a career out of flipping houses.

Still hanging on one wall was a calendar. He stepped closer, squinting at it in disbelief. March 1976.

Squatting, he tugged at the ancient, powder blue shag carpet. The aged carpet ripped easily, and he inspected the floor beneath. He hoped to keep the original hardwoods. This section looked good. That was a bonus.

Hello? A deep male voice called up the stairs.

The electrician, Finn thought, and hurried down to meet him.

Victor was an affable man in his late fifties or early sixties. A worn tool belt wrapped around his thick waist. He wore beat up work boots, worn jeans and a thick flannel jacket.

Hey, have you been on one of those old house restoration shows? Finn thought the guy looked familiar.

Me? Nah, I'm just an old timer on the island. Learned the trade from my father. Taught my son the same thing before he took off to work in Boston.

Victor pulled out a flashlight and peered around the living room.

I'm betting the electrical in this house dates back a couple of decades.

Really? I was hoping it wouldn't all have to be replaced.

Finn's anxiety shot up a couple of notches. Wasn't electrical the most expensive part of home repairs?

A pair of sisters lived here until last year, Victor volunteered. Looks like they let the place go. I heard that they were living on the first floor for the last decade or so. Shame. The one sister died of a stroke. A couple of months later the other passed away in her sleep.

This was more information than Finn needed, but Victor seemed