Turbulent Intentions (Billionaire Aviators #1) - Melody Anne Page 0,37
body. I used to be able to get up and down so fast.” He cursed as his knuckle hit the pipe and instantly bruised. “Got it!”
With triumph, the two men stood, helping each other up as they turned the faucet on, not too high, but enough to flood the floors.
When water began dribbling out of the cupboard, the men high-fived and then quickly made their exit from the cottage.
Safely back in their car, they needed to brag of their deed to someone, so they called their good buddy Martin who was having his own matchmaking delights in Montana. The man, of course, was jealous of their masterminding tactics.
“Tomorrow will be a good day,” Sherman told Joseph.
“I only wish we could be there to see Cooper and Stormy together,” Joseph pouted.
“Oh, we will, my friend . . . at the wedding,” Sherman said with a confident grin.
With a smile, they drove off. Anyone who might say they’d lost their touch in their old age certainly didn’t know the men well at all. They were in the primes of their lives as far as they were concerned.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As promised, Amy arrived at Stormy’s apartment bright and early the next morning. Stormy’s spartan lifestyle offered little resistance to the big move.
Her low-income life had ingrained in her the ideals of simple living. She kept possessions to a minimum, not out of some obedience to a pious and minimalist lifestyle, but more out of the necessity of tight spaces. Not only that, but until she’d been ten, her parents had dragged her all around the world, so packing had to be kept to a minimum.
The largest and most difficult of Stormy’s items was her futon, which was used exclusively as a bed. In fact, this was Stormy’s only piece of furniture, aside from her milk crate nightstand.
“I hate this old thing. It’s not the most comfortable, and I’m more than ready to leave it behind,” Stormy said with a smile. “I’m moving into a cottage, so even if it isn’t furnished, which I forgot to ask Sherman about, I’m sure it has soft, plush carpet.”
“Smart thinking, but the rich people like their decorating, so you probably will have one of those Monarch Vispring beds with something like three thousand springs in it.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” Stormy said.
“Yeah, cause it’s priced at about fifty thousand bucks,” Amy told her.
“For fifty thousand bucks, the dang bed better massage me, bathe me, and tuck me in for a good night’s rest,” Stormy told her.
“No. That’s what the master of the house is for,” Amy said with a wink.
“I guarantee you there’s no way that’s gonna happen,” Stormy said emphatically.
Amy gave her a look that said she didn’t believe her, but at least she let the subject drop.
After the last of her items were loaded into Amy’s full car, the two women climbed inside and drove off, bound for Gig Harbor.
The drive was typical for Seattle, traffic was bumper to bumper, but they soon found themselves crossing the straits of Puget Sound on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. The point of no return, Stormy thought to herself as she started running over the items she might have left behind. Her mind was eased knowing that she’d taken all that was important to her and anything left wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
The bridge ended with the entrance to the quaint neighboring town of Gig Harbor. This once bustling fishing and boat-building community now existed as more of a tourist attraction. People from all parts of the Northwest came to enjoy the small shops and attractive parks that adorned the area.
As she and Amy passed through the small streets, lined with various shops and seafood eateries, Stormy looked upon the busy marina, which was bustling with small sailing ships and some rather nice seagoing yachts.
The drive through town didn’t take long as Gig Harbor’s population of a little over seven thousand people was only spread over an area of about one hundred square miles.
“What was the address?” Amy asked as they rounded the corner onto Goodman Place.
Stormy didn’t respond as she rolled down the window, allowing the crisp sea breeze to blow in. Her eyes were hidden behind a black pair of cheap sunglasses, her brown hair flowing around her face as she inhaled deeply. Her focus and gaze were trained on the surroundings and all the houses lining the streets.
The homes ranged from older two-story Victorians to modern family dwellings, some even passing as mansions, all with immaculately landscaped yards