“Nah. Escape pod, used by various people over the generations. Mom had sleepovers there with girlfriends. I think my grandparents honeymooned there. Jonas slept there when he was a teenager. My great-grandfather used it most. He was a writer with five kids and needed peace and quiet.”
“How nice for your great-grandmother that he had somewhere to go.” She rolled her eyes, imagining the poor woman managing five screeching kids while her husband peacefully awaited inspiration.
Erik dismissed her with a wave. “They probably had one nanny for each kid. Great-Grandma Josephine was a party animal. Wait till you see her outfits.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Tomorrow.” He unlocked the front door. “The light will be better up in the attic.”
Inside, the house was cool and still, but with none of the mustiness one would expect from a place shut up for so long. Erik hit a switch and a brass chandelier sprang to light, illuminating the tiled foyer and curving staircase ascending to the left. To the right, against the wall under a huge gilt-framed mirror, stood a glass table on which sat a low vase of perfectly dried flowers—lavender, hydrangea, roses and curly willow.
Glimpses into the surrounding rooms revealed similar decor. Subtle, simple, nothing overdone. Everything reeked of elegance and good taste. Julie had that talent. She could absently throw on skinny pants and any old shirt and look ten times more chic than Allie trying her hardest. Dad’s wife, Betsy, was the same way, only she was openly smug about it.
Maybe the gift of effortless style came with the money genes.
“It’s late, I’m beat.” Erik gave a long, loud yawn. “I’ll treat you to the full tour tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, no problem.” Allie followed him up the staircase, hiding her oh-so-low-class disappointment. She felt like a little kid, wanting to see everything now! The downstairs, the upstairs, the cottage, the boathouse. She wanted to take a long moonlit walk by the lake, lie on the beach and count stars...
But okay, she’d still be here tomorrow night, and several more after that. She’d get her moonlit walk, probably more than once.
Upstairs, the landing was furnished with a grandfather clock and old-fashioned daybed. Near a window overlooking the lake were a smaller wing chair and a bookcase. It was a perfect spot for a rainy day.
“Yours.” Turning right down a long hall, Erik pushed open the first door on the lake side and ushered Allie in.
“Wow.” She walked to the center of the good-size room and turned slowly, taking it all in. The bed was the centerpiece: a white iron frame with curving lines, decorative but not overly ornate, covered in a bold floral quilt with matching pillows. Around the windows hung a more subdued fabric, displaying the same pattern in a smaller print. A few watercolor landscapes brightened the pale yellow walls. A bedside table supported a fresh bouquet that nearly matched the bedspread. Under her feet, a blue-and-white rug lay over carefully preserved hardwood. All of it managed to look perfectly haphazard and totally put together at the same time.
She could never live here.
Turning once more, she noticed something laid out on the bed—
“What is that?” Allie pointed accusingly at the nightie. It was cotton eyelet with embroidered pastel roses. Very sheer. Very short. Very low-cut.
“Our housekeeper prepared the room for you. You’re welcome to wear it if you want, otherwise, just hang it up and forget about it.”
She met Erik’s guileless eyes, unamused. “Thanks. I brought my own.”
“Okay.” His smile didn’t waver. “Anything else you need tonight?”
No. “Not a thing, thanks.”
“Good night then.” He grasped her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead, standing just far enough away that she didn’t feel she needed to call him on it. “Welcome to Morningside, Allie. I’m really glad you decided to come. We’ll have a great time.”
“I’m sure we will.”
Another kiss, this one on her cheek, and a closer embrace, just this side of platonic. She had to admit he smelled good, expensive and masculine, but that was about it for her attraction. After he left, she hurried to close the door.
Fifteen minutes later, Allie had unpacked and was lying in bed, listening to Erik humming through the connecting door—locked, she’d checked—and the faint lap of waves outside, nothing at all like the honk-and-siren sounds of Manhattan. The earplugs she wore every night still lay on her bedside table, waiting for her to get sleepy enough to put them in. As long as she was wide-awake, she might as well tune in to the natural world around her.
An hour later, she was still lying there. The swishing of the waves had gotten more vigorous and the wind had picked up. She could hear Erik snoring.
It had been a while since Allie had tried to sleep in a new bed—alone, anyway. Apparently she was bad at it. And this room made her feel as though she had to be sure she didn’t drool or sweat during the night. Her someday-mansion would feel welcoming and comfortable to anyone. Even her brothers.
She put the earplugs in, hoping they’d trigger some kind of Pavlovian sleep response.
They didn’t.
Finally the obvious hit her.
No one was forcing her to lie here. Erik was asleep; no one else was around. She’d wanted to go for a moonlit walk? She could do that. Right now. Sliding out of bed, she stuffed the earplugs into the pocket of her sleep shirt.
Hell, if she wanted to, she could dance naked on the beach all night long.
3
JONAS TURNED ONTO I-87 from Route 7, after skirting Albany. Forty-five minutes, give or take, and he’d be at Morningside a day earlier than expected. Funny, now that he was on his way, he couldn’t get there fast enough. The feel of the breeze, the way the woods smelled, the sand under his feet, the clear water around his body—it was like returning to the best part of his childhood. Maybe it was the best part. The one place his parents had relaxed their rules, or at least some of them.
His client had canceled dinner that afternoon, then Sandra texted him that she’d agreed to take over a Friday night gig for an ill friend, so would be delayed leaving. She’d encouraged him to go without her, saying she’d drive out the next morning. Jonas had protested, but not very strenuously—the idea of leaving the hot, crowded city behind him after a long week had been too seductive.
And Allie. What was it about a few perfunctory emails that had intrigued him so much? He knew plenty of smart, funny women in Boston. Most likely his memory of her from that dinner at Christmastime had been warped by time into a fantasy. Fantasy had an unfortunate way of beating reality. Case in point: he had believed Missy was a good life-match for him, while she’d been off spending his money and screwing one of her investment firm colleagues.
Plus, Erik might truly like Allie in a deeper way than usual, and she might have changed and truly like him. Someone like Allie would be good for Erik, settle him down, give him something to think and care about other than his own needs and
