Eventually, once school had started and they were settled in, Meredith would figure out how she wanted to fill her days. She didn’t have to work, but she knew by then she’d want to, plus it would leave the majority of their accounts and investments untouched, except for the bigger expenses. Lakefront properties came with hefty tax bills, for one thing.
But it was worth it. The deck was made of a composite material that looked like wood, but wouldn’t splinter or peel. It spanned the width of the house and extended far enough out to have a patio set and a grill along with the built-in storage seating benches.
The stairs led down to the yard, which wasn’t big, but it had beautiful grass and sloped gently to a short strip of sand at the water’s edge. A wooden dock extended out into the lake, and at the end was a covered swinging love seat. Wildflowers had been planted around the dock, which Meredith hadn’t noticed in the photos and videos from the real estate agent.
As surprises in buying a house sight unseen went, unexpected flowers were definitely a good one.
“Be careful,” she called to Sophie, who had picked Oscar up and walked onto the dock.
Her daughter was a good swimmer, but the dog wasn’t. And now that they’d be living on the water instead of visiting it, they’d have to have a serious discussion about water safety.
“Who are you?” she heard Sophie ask, and Meredith’s head jerked up from the flower bed she’d been bent over.
A man was standing in the next yard, and he startled her enough so she didn’t chide Sophie for being rude. It was a valid question.
“I’m Cam,” he said in a deep voice that matched his outside. He was tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair and the kind of scruffy jaw that said the beard wasn’t deliberate, but more a result of not bothering to shave for a few days. And, while he was wearing jeans and loafers, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Judging by the pinkish cast to his light tan, shirtless wasn’t his usual state of attire. “Who are you?”
“Sophie. This is my new house. And this is my dog. His name is Oscar.”
“Hello,” Meredith said, drawing the stranger’s attention to her before Sophie could spill any more details.
“Hi.” He looked at her, and he was close enough so she could see the bright blue of his eyes. “In keeping with the theme, who are you?”
“My name is Meredith. Are you...a groundskeeper of some sort?”
It seemed like a legitimate question—working outside might explain why he wasn’t wearing a shirt when it wasn’t even hot—so she was surprised when he laughed. And even more surprised when she caught herself smiling because he had a great laugh.
“I’m not the lawn guy. I’m staying here for the summer.”
Meredith shook her head in confusion. “You’re renting this cottage?”
Unlike the old cottages that had been torn down to make way for the newer, much more expensive models, the summer home next door was original. And very colorful, if a little shabby.
The old clapboard siding was painted a pale pink and the trim was turquoise. The crooked window boxes, some of which had plastic flowers and little whirligigs in them, offered pops of color. It was essentially the total opposite of Meredith’s sleek, white cedar–sided contemporary.
“No, I’m not renting it. It’s mine.”
“The real estate agent told me Mrs. Archambault lived next door.” Despite having only vague memories of the older woman, she had been one of the reasons Meredith had chosen this house over two others. She wanted Sophie to learn to bond with people, and a grandmotherly neighbor would have been a good start.
His expression closed off. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”
Cam Maguire wasn’t sure what to make of finding a beautiful woman, a little girl and a tiny bit of fluff that he was pretty sure was a dog in the yard when he went outside to look for his grandmother’s cat.
He’d heard all the jokes about cats being real jerks and secretly plotting the demise of the humans who cared for them. He used to laugh at those jokes.
He didn’t laugh anymore.
“I don’t understand,” the woman—Meredith, she’d said her name was—said and he realized she was still confused about why he was living next door to her.
“The woman who lived here, Carolina Archambault, was my grandmother and she passed away recently. I guess it must have been after you talked to your real estate agent about the neighbors.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” he said, because it was the right thing to say. And he did feel a sense of loss.
It was his loss that he’d never met the woman who was his biological paternal grandmother and who had lived in this eccentric and colorful cottage by the lake.
“There you are,” he said to the extremely large and very long-haired black cat who sauntered into the yard as if she hadn’t disappeared for four hours to who knew where. And she had burrs in her tail again. Getting those things out of her fur made him wish he’d been a hockey goalie in college so he’d have the proper safety equipment for the job. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Elinor—which was a ridiculous name for a cat, if you asked him—ignored him as expected and walked onto the neighbor’s grass as if she owned it.
The little girl had left the dock and was exploring the yard with her dog, its leash clutched in her little hand. The dog watched the cat warily, but appeared to be smart enough not to mess with her. And Sophie was a cute kid, with long brownish-blond hair like her mother’s. They looked a lot alike, actually, right down to their serious expressions.
“I’d offer to give you tips on living in Blackberry Bay,” he said, “but I haven’t been here very long.”
“I’m from here, actually. I’ve been in California for years, so it might have changed a
