The Choice - Nicholas Sparks [63]
“In my opinion, this place has one of the most beautiful views anywhere along the coast,” he finally said. “It’s not like an ocean view, where all you see is waves and water stretching to the horizon. That’s great, but after a while it gets boring, because the view is always pretty much the same. But here, there’s always something to see. There are always sailboats and yachts streaming toward the marina; if you come out here at night, you can see the crowds along the waterfront and listen to the music. I’ve seen porpoises and rays passing through the channel, and I especially love to see the wild horses over on the island. I don’t care how many times I’ve seen them, I’m always amazed.”
“You come out here a lot?”
“Twice a week, maybe. This is where I come to think.”
“I’m sure the neighbors are thrilled about that.”
“It’s not like they can do anything about it. I own it.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound so surprised when you say that?”
“I’m not sure. I guess it just sounds so . . . domestic.”
“I do own a house already. . . .”
“And I hear your neighbor is terrific.”
“Yeah, yeah . . .”
“I just meant that buying a lot makes it sound like you’re the kind of guy who has long-term plans.”
“And you don’t see me like that?”
“Well . . .”
“If you’re trying to flatter me, you’re not doing a very good job.”
She laughed. “How about this, then: You continually surprise me.”
“In a good way?”
“Every time.”
“Like when you brought Molly to the clinic and realized I was a veterinarian?”
“I’d rather not talk about that.”
He laughed. “Then let’s eat.”
She followed him back to the motorcycle, where he unpacked the basket and a blanket. After leading her up a small incline toward the rear of the property, he spread the blanket and motioned for her to sit. Once they were both comfortable, he started removing Tupperware containers.
“Tupperware?”
He winked. “My friends call me Mr. Domestic.”
He pulled out two chilled cans of strawberry-flavored iced tea. After opening hers, he handed it to her.
“What’s on the menu?” she asked.
He pointed to various containers as he spoke. “I’ve got three different kinds of cheese, crackers, Kalamata olives, and grapes—it’s more a snack than a lunch.”
“Sounds perfect.” She reached for the crackers and then sliced herself some cheese. “There used to be a house here, right?” When she saw his surprise, she waved toward the houses on either side of the lot. “I can’t imagine that this particular spot has been vacant for a hundred fifty years.”
“You’re right,” he said. “It burned down when I was a kid. I know you think Beaufort is small now, but when I grew up here, it wasn’t more than a blip on the map. Most of these historic homes had fallen into disrepair, and the one that had been here had been abandoned for years. It was a great big rambling kind of place with big holes in the roof, and it was rumored to be haunted, which made it that much more attractive to us when we were kids. We used to sneak over here at night. It was like our fort, and we’d play hide-and-seek for hours in the rooms. There were tons of great hiding places.” He pulled absently at some grass, as if reaching for the memories. “Anyway, one winter night, I guess a couple of vagrants lit a fire inside to stay warm. The place went up in minutes, and the next day it was just this smoldering pile. But the thing was, no one knew how to contact the man who owned it. The original owner had died and left it to his son. The son died, and he’d left it to someone else, and so on, so that pile of rubble sat there for about a year until the town came in and bulldozed it away. The lot kind of got forgotten after that, until I finally tracked down the owner in New Mexico and made a lowball offer on it. He accepted it immediately. I doubt if he’d ever been here, and he didn’t know what he was giving up.”
“And you’re going to build a house here?”
“That’s part of my long-term plan, anyway, being that I’m so domestic and all.” Travis grabbed an olive