[Highest ranking: #72 in General Fiction]
Spring semester is here!
Classes are back in session but will the girls be able to handle the struggle or will they get taken down like 'hay fever'?
College wasn't easy before but throw in a proposal, newbo...
Once Lela and Trevor stepped off the ferry and onto the gravelly path of Nantucket Harbor time was the last thing on their minds. There were no classes to get to, due dates that grabbed their attention, or shifts at work that needed to be covered.
The sun hung high as Trevor led them through the cobblestone street. She wanted to hitch a ride from one of the cars waiting for customers at the harbor but he insisted that the house was close. Twenty-plus minutes later, Lela realized that she and Trevor had very different meanings of the word close.
As they marched through Nantucket Town, he informed the Cape Cod vacationer on the island's whaling history. He pointed out which dish was best at each restaurant—which at this point Lela would gladly settle for a biscuit since the sugary bowl of Pops she downed before their flight was now gone.
The salty breeze that blew in from the coast kept her forehead sweat-free as they hiked Cliff Road. She fussed and grumbled with the girth of her duffle bag until he took it from her and hitched it on his other shoulder not missing a beat as he told her about the time he spent the night in Brant Point Lighthouse when he was eight. At the end of his story, she could see the childish glee painted on his ecru face.
His feet stopped at an unmarked road and he leaned toward her ear to whisper, "Are you ready to escape with me?"
"Boy..." Lela breathed out as she playfully pushed him away. "This better lead to your house or..."
"Or what?" He teased strolling down the dirt road littered with pebbles.
Lela squinted at him with mock anger and uttered the only phrase that came to mind, "Shut up."
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A canopy of lush greenery outlined the road that was her definition of close then gave away to a palatial cedar-shingled estate with a circular drive. A symphony of crashing waves could be heard in the distance as Trevor held the front door open for her.
"Make yourself at home," Trevor told as he wrenched her duffle from her hand. He climbed up the stairs that were just a few steps from the foyer.
Blue tones were paired well with the white walls and oak furniture throughout the house that radiated with streams of sunlight. Lela unlaced her sneakers and pulled her sock-covered feet out not wanting to scuff up the polished hardwood floors that appeared to be the same tone as the sand on the beach.
She held her breath as she stalked through the living room with an abundance of windows. The picture-covered mantle caught her attention. Silver frames housed photographs that outline Trevor's childhood—from missing teeth to messy hands at a clambake. His early years brought a pang to her most vital organ as she wondered if her parents still kept her childhood photos hanging up and out for all to see.
"So...what do you want to do?" Trevor inquired as he stood in the entryway.
Lela let her hand slip from the mantle as she looked at him with glassy eyes, "This is your stomping grounds...you tell me."
