“I’d love some,” Alana said, and followed Chloe through the main room to the kitchen.
One of Brookhaven’s unique architectural features was Japanese-style sliding walls. Chloe had closed off the great room to form a meditation-and-yoga studio space lit by south-facing floor-to-ceiling windows. A scattering of zabutons and zafus ringed the simple bench where Chloe led guided-meditation sessions, and at the other end lay yoga mats, blocks, and bolsters for yoga classes. Alana got the sense that the house found these changes amusing, rather like a dowager duchess supremely confident in her status and therefore utterly unconcerned with changing fashion.
The kitchen, however, was a gorgeous homage to the house’s heritage. Marissa had included modern conveniences like granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, but she’d kept the cabinet doors and the original slate floors.
“Do you mind if I take a look in the servants’ quarters?”
“Not at all,” Chloe said as she ran water into an electric kettle.
Alana stepped through the connecting door into the empty space. Chloe was living in the master suite, but until she built her cabins on the meadow, was renting the servants’ quarters to a long-term residential student. Marissa had painted the kitchen cabinets a soft gray with pink undertones that reminded Alana of sunrise over London. She’d used brushed silver handles, but Alana thought Lucas’s kitchen would look prettier with gold. So much light streamed into the room. Hints of gold would pick up the sunlight and make the room feel bright, open, welcoming.
Back in the kitchen, Chloe was opening a cabinet. She removed a gleaming Japanese teapot and two ceramic cups. “So why the sudden interest in my kitchen?” she asked as she arranged everything on a mother-of-pearl-inlaid tray.
She’d claimed Brookhaven with ease, Alana noticed. My kitchen. “Lucas wants to redo the kitchen in the house I’m renting and asked me for input. This is the nicest kitchen in the county, so I thought I’d start here.”
“Some of the houses on the golf course have gorgeous kitchens,” Chloe pointed out as she offered Alana a wooden box containing a selection of loose-leaf tea pouches.
“I don’t have much time. Lucas wants to buy supplies tonight. Anyway, those houses have a cookie-cutter feel to them,” Alana said, looking around again. She chose a pouch of white orchard tea and handed the box back to Chloe. “Marissa had a gift. In Chicago she had owned her own design firm.”
“New York, too,” Chloe admitted. “Where is she now?”
“She left Hawaii a few weeks ago on her way to San Diego.” She focused on Chloe, pouring water over the tea leaves. “So. Tell me the latest.”
Single women who relocated to rural areas were a rare commodity, and one in high demand with farming or ranching bachelors. Chloe was slender, lithe, with big brown eyes and a wide-open smile, one on display as she set a cup in front of Alana. “The latest is Henry Marsden.”
“I don’t know him.”
“He ranches a few miles out of town. We’ve been out three times in the last two weeks.”
“And?”
Chloe’s brown eyes sparkled over her tea. “Not so fast. Your turn.”
Alana shrugged. “I had Lucas over for dinner.”
“And?”
“And . . .”
Both dark brown eyebrows lifted toward her hairline, a question Alana answered with a nod. “It’s about time.”
“It’s a mistake,” Alana said. “I’m going home in a few weeks.”
“So? Why does that make it a mistake?”
Because in Alana’s experience, the kind of shell Lucas carried around formed over an unshakable piece of grit in the soul. Even the wounded ones could still get hurt.
Mistaking her silence for confusion, Chloe went on. “He’s hot,” she said, using her right hand to tick off points. “He’s single,” she said, adding her index finger to her thumb. “He’s right next door. He’s a cop.”
Alana stopped her. “Don’t say it.”
“You’re a librarian.”
“We’re a cliché.”
“Nothing wrong with being a cliché.” She sipped her tea, then lifted her pinkie finger to complete the list of five reasons why Alana should make a mistake with Lucas. “And it’s not really a mistake if there’re no consequences. Which there aren’t, because you’re leaving in a few weeks.”
Somehow it didn’t seem that simple. “That’s all very true,” Alana said. “How’s business?”
Chloe pursed her lips. “Good. I’m talking to organizations in Brookings and Sioux Falls about using the house for company off-sites, and to churches and spiritual directors who need space to run weekend retreats. I can pay the mortgage coaching disillusioned corporate employees looking for somewhere to strategize about their next steps, and I’ve got regulars coming to yoga classes. That’s enough.”
Alana thought about her mother and stepfather’s definition of enough. Once Freddie married Toby, her mother’s expectations would turn to Alana in a way they never had before.