Laura called after him. “Come here, Frank.”
He didn’t listen, most likely too keen to take in all the new smells, and trotted up the stairs.
Carrying her bags, she followed him up to the second story. As she climbed the stairs, she noticed more photos of more couples, all of them looking blissfully happy. They must have a big family.
Finally reaching the landing, she trailed after Frank as he poked his nose into a bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was tastefully furnished, though it lacked a view of the lake.
“Oh, this is nice.” She could see herself here, away from her bedroom at home and its childishly yellow-and-pink walls. Yes, she could lie in bed here until late in the morning, letting her mind spin with how she would fill up the hours of her vacation.
Her dog was less impressed, quickly turning and leaving the bedroom.
“What?” she asked, curious about whatever had distracted him.
She followed Frank into another bedroom. Her mouth fell open. It was huge, with a big gorgeous bed where her dog already perched, and—even better—the lake glimmered just outside.
“Oh, wow,” she said softly to Frank. “Now this is more like it, huh?” With a happy sigh, she sat down on the bed and stroked Frank’s silky neck. “Yeah. I think it’s exactly what we need.”
She couldn’t wait to head outside and start taking pictures. At least when she was behind the camera, she didn’t feel so adrift.
Fortunately, the car company was able to accommodate Spencer’s requests, and the electric vehicle hummed approvingly as he drove to the rental house. He made certain to follow the GPS, sticking to the recommended routes and avoiding any detours. After stopping at a local health food store for some supplies, he got back in the car to hurry to his destination.
Though South Haven had a definite small-town charm, he didn’t have time to spend seeing the sights or admiring views. He had to write his dissertation—in only two weeks.
His hands tightened on the wheel as he drove down a tree-lined street. What had he been thinking, putting off writing the most important work of his life? Oh, he’d been assembling a mountain of notecards, all of them covered with his tidy, precise handwriting, but when it came to actually writing the dissertation itself…he’d made no progress. And the defense was just fourteen days away.
Susan had been the one to suggest he try getting out of town. “Maybe you need a place to focus,” she’d said when he’d nearly thrown his laptop out the window of his apartment. “Get away from distractions—like me.”
“You aren’t a distraction,” he’d protested, but he hadn’t been entirely truthful. She had carefully monitored him whenever he’d sat down to work, reading over his shoulder or making sounds of disapproval when he’d played computer solitaire. She seemed more invested in his dissertation than he was.
Maybe that wasn’t fair. She only wanted them to start their future together—two PhDs blazing trails in academia, being a power couple in the field of psychology. Wasn’t that what he wanted, too?
It is, he told himself. Stability, security. Finally.
“Make a U-turn,” the GPS said cheerfully.
In her cat carrier in the backseat, Mozart meowed with impatience. She hated car rides.
Spencer cursed softly under his breath as he followed the computer’s instructions. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts he’d missed the house, which just went to show how jumbled he was. Hopefully, a couple of weeks of peace and solitude would help him get his head and priorities straight.
He guided the car up the driveway before parking. Staring through the windshield, he couldn’t believe that this amazing house would be his. The woman he’d rented it from had quoted him a price even a graduate student could afford, so he’d jumped at the chance. Lakefront views and total quiet would definitely ensure that he worked.
After getting his luggage from the trunk, he grabbed Mozart’s carrier and his canvas bag of groceries, then maneuvered everything to the front door. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. Soaring ceilings and a living room with an enormous fireplace greeted him.
“Wow,” he said admiringly, stepping into the open space. “All right, Mozart.”
He set her carrier down and opened the latch on the grate. When she gingerly stepped out, he ran an encouraging hand down her back. “This is home for the next two weeks.”
Even though she hated car rides, Mozart liked new places. After giving one last assessing look at her environment, she padded off to explore.
He straightened, and his gaze fell on an ice bucket sitting atop the kitchen counter. A bottle of white wine stood chilling in the bucket, and a tumbler waited beside it.
“Well,” Spencer said with pleasure, “isn’t that thoughtful?” He examined the bottle, recognizing the label. “It’s good, too.” He picked up the tumbler and saw it was painted with cheerful little daisies. Cute, but not a wineglass. “Deserves a better glass than this.”
A hutch held long-stemmed wineglasses, so he set the tumbler down on one of the shelves and plucked a more appropriate vessel for the chardonnay. He brought the glass to the counter and poured himself some wine.
“Here’s to a productive two weeks.” He raised his glass. It would have been better if someone had been there to toast with him, but that was what this time was about—being alone.
After taking a sip, Spencer put the wine down and went to collect his luggage. It took two trips to bring the three perfectly matched bags up the curved staircase that led to the second floor. Once all his belongings were upstairs, he examined one of the bedrooms. It was a comfortable room with a perfectly pleasant bed, but it wasn’t quite what he wanted.
Further investigating uncovered a second, larger bedroom with a bed that faced a spectacular view of the lake. Wonderful. He stacked his bags neatly on the bed and, after ensuring that they were precisely lined up so that they wouldn’t topple over, he headed back downstairs. There was just one more thing to do to make the house perfect.
A small pedestal table was exactly the right size and height for his portable phonograph. He took a vinyl LP out of his canvas bag, then set it carefully on the turntable.
Mozart continued her exploration of the living room, sniffing delicately at the sofa and chairs.
“Hey, Mozart,” he said over his shoulder. “How do you like the place?”
He gently lowered the needle onto the record, and immediately the elegant strains of “Spring” from Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons filled the house. Spencer smiled to himself. He’d spent months tracking down this particular recording of Vivaldi. It had been his mom’s favorite.
There was something enchanting about an LP versus a digital recording. It had a warmth and humanity that a download could never achieve. He was glad that he’d taken the chance and brought some of his album collection with him. After he worked all day, he could relax in the evening with Vivaldi, Beethoven, and a few vintage oldies. They reminded him of those rare evenings with
