from the car and thrown her arms around Nate. She was smaller than he remembered, shorter, and she seemed almost fragile. But then, he’d had weeks with a woman who would grab the heavy end of a motorboat and lift it.
When she raised her face to his to kiss, he was glad. It seemed like months since he’d touched a woman. Days of yearning, of dreaming, of desiring. He opened his mouth over hers and—
“Nate!” Stacy pushed away from him. “Not here. Not now.” She moved to point out that her parents were behind them.
He released her and she stepped away, but not before she winced and rubbed her side. He’d forgotten that he wasn’t to be enthusiastic with her for fear of hurting her. With Stacy, words like gentle and tender were always in his mind.
Mr. Hartman gave Nate a look of reproach and Mrs. Hartman put on her Sunday school teacher face. Yet again, Nate had displeased them.
Silently, he followed them down the street, not knowing or caring where they were going. When he saw the red bow on the door to the old Stanton house, he wanted to turn tail and run. Up close, the house was worse than he’d thought. Peeling paint, rotten window frames. He hated the overall look of it—a sort of White House with its heavy columns—and the position of it smack in the center of town.
When they got there, half a dozen people were already waiting. But then you couldn’t do anything at that house that everyone didn’t see. There was a big half barrel on a stand: an attempt to look rustic yet actually be sophisticated. Six bottles of champagne were inside on ice.
What was Nate to do? Was he to declare that he hated the place right there in front of everyone? He glanced down at Stacy as she held his hand. Her face was a poster for happiness. She was so ecstatically happy that tears gleamed in her pretty blue eyes.
Nate said nothing as he helped Stacy cut the big ribbon with the huge scissors, then stood back as she unlocked the door. When she paused, he knew he was to carry her over the threshold. What else could he do?
When they were inside, Stacy did give him a little snuggle. As the growing crowd showed its delight—people seemed able to smell free champagne—she shut the door so they were alone.
There was a picnic set up on the floor with white cloths, more champagne and a basket full of what Nate was sure was Mrs. Hartman’s bland food.
He set Stacy down and even opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I have loved this house my whole life! It’s something Dad and I shared. He got a key from the caretaker and on Sunday afternoons we used to sneak in here. I know every inch of it. Come on! I’ll show you.”
She grabbed his hand, pulled him to the stairs and he followed her up. With more excitement than he’d ever seen in her, she showed him room after derelict room. Paneling and wallpaper hung down in strips. Two ceilings were falling. She wouldn’t let him enter one bathroom because the floor was rotten.
“I can walk on it but you’d go through.”
The way she said it made him feel like the Hulk, green and cumbersome.
Downstairs were the big rooms. A hideous kitchen, a family room with dark paneling. Stacy loved the little alcove to the side.
“We can snuggle there on rainy days and read.”
The built-in seat was so narrow that half of him would hang over the side. But he said nothing.
The dining room had bow-front windows that looked out into... The backyard was filled with broken concrete blocks, rotting piles of lumber and a couple of old appliances. He turned to her in shock.
“I know,” she said. “It’s awful, isn’t it? But don’t worry. I’ll clean it up. I’ll make it into a truly beautiful garden.”
Then what? he wanted to ask. Their view would be of a bunch of flowers? He thought of the view he’d grown used to: the lake, the tall trees on the edge, the people in the distance.
With this house, there was no privacy anywhere. Every window looked into someone else’s house. Maybe their kids would talk to the neighbors from one window to another.
“What’s that look for?” she asked.
“I was thinking about our kids.”
“That’s so sweet,” Stacy said. “Do you think they’ll be dark like you or as pale as