“Well, come in, please!” Cara exclaimed, stepping back to allow them to pass.
Heather bent to pick up a birdcage in either hand and, careful to avoid eye contact with Cara Rutledge, hurried into the house. Inside, she was struck by the welcoming scent of fresh paint and polished wood. Someone had worked hard to prepare the house for her arrival. The walls were painted a pale ocean blue, and the floors were covered with large grass rugs, giving it a coastal feel. The foyer was very small, just an entryway to the large, open living room. Looking in, she saw two plump upholstered chintz chairs on either side of a coffee table topped with a tray holding fresh flowers. It looked like an old English cottage with a beach spin. Old-world yet fresh. On the right she caught a glimpse into a small galley kitchen and a bedroom beyond. To the left, a narrow hall led to more rooms.
“Welcome to Primrose Cottage,” Cara said as she closed the door behind them. She spoke with the authority of the mistress of the house. “It’s a small house, but it’s cozy. It used to belong to my mother and she passed it on to me. Much of the furniture and artwork is original to the house, though I’ve updated it some for rental.” Cara paused and looked around the house, and her face softened with a wistful expression. “But it’s still very much the same place.”
Heather’s first impression was that the little beach house was perfect. Not big, shiny, and new. Rather the cottage was filled with the charms of a vintage house—moldings, built-ins, and old-world quality. She felt right at home the moment she stepped into the house.
“You probably want to find a place to put your birds,” Cara offered, noting the birdcages weighing down Heather’s arms.
“Please,” Heather said.
“Maybe the sunporch?” Cara lifted her arm, directing their attention to the back of the house.
Heather felt a surge of delight. The possibilities fluttered in her mind as she hurried across the living room, lugging her cages, David and Cara trailing in her wake.
“I didn’t know there was a four-season room!” she exclaimed.
“We just built it,” Cara explained, pushing the French doors open wider so they could fit the cages through. “I didn’t have time to update the website photos before you rented. It all happened so fast,” she added with a light laugh.
Heather set her two cages on the white wrought-iron, glass-topped table. Her father deposited the final cage beside the others. That done, she looked at the wall of windows bringing in great shafts of sunlight. It had a pretty effect on the room, but she worried it was too much light for her birds.
As though reading Heather’s mind, Cara walked to a window and pulled on the string that lowered a sunshade. “These shades will control the sunshine and heat in here. You can lower the shades and still see through them. You’ll appreciate that on days when you want to cut the glare but not feel cooped inside.”
Heather met her father’s gaze and knew they were both thinking the same thing. Cara could not have known how important it was that Heather not feel cooped up inside the house.
“There’s a ceiling fan, too,” Cara added, pointing overhead. “I recommend that during the nights and early mornings you turn off the air-conditioning and let the ocean breezes cool you. The ocean sounds are like a lullaby. I live on the creek side of the island, and though I love looking at the wetlands, I miss the sound of the ocean while I sleep. On super-hot days, though, keep those doors to the house closed and turn on the AC.”
She turned toward the ocean and her voice softened. “But you will love this view. We wanted to offer maximum opportunity to enjoy it year-round.” She pointed. “That ocean lot in front was left to conservation and will never be built on, so the view is guaranteed.”
David whistled softly. “That’s a lucky break.” He stood at the open window, hands on hips, taking in the wide expanse of ocean view.
“More than luck. It was determined by a friend of my mother’s. Mr. Bennett was a sea turtle expert and hoped to set a precedent for conservation. As it turned out, no one else followed suit. This is the only lot that’s been left to conservation that I know of, which makes it all the more precious.”
“It certainly adds to the value of your property.” His eyes gleamed with appreciation. “Yes, sir, it’s a very special spot.”
“The deck isn’t quite finished,” Cara said, assuming again the role of landlady. “We still have to add some more decking and finish the stairs and railings. You’d better not go out there until it’s done. Someone will come by tomorrow to work on it. I hope it’ll be finished this week. I do hope that’s not an inconvenience.”
“That’s no problem at all,” David assured her. He looked at Heather. “I know Heather is happy with the sunroom. Aren’t you, honey?”
She nodded and smiled briefly. In her mind, she was working out where to put the cages.
“You’ll love the deck when it’s done,” Cara assured Heather. She turned to look out again through the glass. “We have several white rockers that will go out on the deck after it’s stained. Brett, my husband, is painting them even as we speak. You’ll be able to sit out there and enjoy the sunsets like a proper islander.” She paused. “My mother and I used to sit out every night, just the two of us, and watch the sun go down, before she . . . passed away.”
Cara’s voice trailed off and she quickly turned her head from the view and looked at Heather, catching her gaze. Though surprised, Heather shyly smiled in return. She felt a sudden, unexpected bond with this fellow motherless woman.
“My sympathy. When did your mother pass?” David asked.
“Ten years ago this summer,” Cara replied, turning back to face David with a perfunctory smile. “Her name was Olivia Rutledge, but everyone called her Lovie. You’ll likely hear stories about her from some of the islanders. Everyone knew her and, I daresay, loved her. She was kind of an institution on Isle of Palms. She was the island’s first turtle lady.”
Heather brightened. “Has . . . has turtle season begun?”
“We’re just starting to walk the beaches this week. We don’t have any nests yet.” Cara wiggled her brows. “But soon!”
“Maybe you could paint one,” David suggested to Heather.
“I could try.”
“That’s right,” Cara said with interest. “You’re an artist.”
Heather looked at her hands, feeling that choking sensation she always experienced when put on the spot. “I-I’m not in galleries or anything like that. I do illustrations for textbooks.”