[photo by Raymond Kotewicz from Unsplash]

Leni

I'm still in a foul mood when I leave the aquarium, but the massive bank of storm clouds that escorted me here—in what felt like solidarity—have nearly dispersed. By the time I arrive in Nags Head, happy rays of late-day sun are highlighting the massive, beachfront house wearing Topher's street number.

I drag myself up the wide stairs trying to ignore how perfect it is: the generous covered porch, the color—a sun-warmed grey with white trim and driftwood shingle accents. And the location, obviously. It's on the southern edge of Nags Head, practically in Manteo. Topher lives closer to the aquarium than I do.

His entrance needs a little help, though. There should be a welcome mat, huge flower pots flanking the front door—and a porch swing with pillows the color of sea foam.

I groan. I sound like my sister.

Dee, who I lied to this morning by way of a sticky note left on the fridge. I didn't need to work today—there was no "situation" with the pregnant otter. Sally is perfectly healthy and not due for another few weeks. But if I'd stayed home there would've been a relentless barrage of questions I'm not ready to answer.

It's not like I didn't try to tell Topher—and I genuinely believed I was getting my point across. When I said dating isn't a priority for me, it seemed like he understood. It wasn't until I took myself back, trying to reevaluate the evening from his perspective, that I realized my mistake. Actions speak louder than words.

That mortifying moment comes back to me, yet again—and I press my hot face into my cool hands. Topher asked a question after he felt "compelled" to tell me I was being seductive. Only he didn't pose it as a question and so I missed it.

"I will follow your lead."

Translation: Are you trying to seduce me?

The answer is no, of course. I don't know how—have never had a reason to want to know how to seduce anyone. I just wanted to share something of myself with him. He was so open and honest and...

Interested.

Now Dee's proclamation will not be ignored: "He sure doesn't look at you like y'all are related."

No, he surely does not. To Topher, last night was probably our first official date. My first date ever. No wonder he was dumbfounded by my lack of experience—and confused by my accidental seduction. And I was so flustered by it all, I didn't have the mental bandwidth to ask who he wants me to meet—another reason I'm avoiding my sister. Dee would be beyond appalled. She likes Topher, but she wouldn't be okay with me trusting him like this. She'd start ranting about scientists and lab tables and finish with, "You could be walking into a trap!"

I'm not. I know that in a way I can't explain—not to Dee or to myself.

The question I lost sleep over is: who does Topher want me to meet? I spent half the night talking myself in and out of hoping that the someone might be a member of his family.

The front door opens and my heart does a little lurch.

"Sorry," Topher says. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was waiting for you to knock and when you didn't I thought..." Judging by his lined forehead, Topher doesn't know what to think about me sulking on his front porch for God knows how long. "Are you ready to come in now?"

"Um, yeah. I guess I'm the one who should say..."

Whoa. I can't finish my apology because I'm drawn, with a force that defies common courtesy, to a wall of windows. At a distance it's all shades of blue, vast ocean and endless sky. But there's also a generous deck with steps descending to a private walkway, direct access to the beach. "This is incredible," I say, turning to him.

All signs of confusion are gone. Topher is grinning now and his eyes... I've never thought of blue as a warm color. I mean, yes, on the color-wheel there are warm blues. But that's not what's happening here. This is like the sun shining through sea-glass. And I get the feeling it's about more than me complimenting his house because it's affecting me too. It being this connection we seem to have—whether or not we're touching.

So I should probably go ahead and carry out the promise I made myself last night after he backed out of my driveway. I need to tell Topher that this thing we're feeling is not what he thinks it is.

I blink my eyes away and take a breath. But it's too shallow, not at all calming. And I can't say what I should say—not quite yet. Because I just barged into the man's house and I need to... "Um, sorry. I think I got a little overwhelmed by the view. Like I said, amazing. And so is your house," I add, flailing an arm out like a total goof. "It's also gigantic."

"Yeah," he says, with an exhale that's part laugh, part sigh. "It's larger than I was hoping for, but there isn't much of choice when it comes to ocean front."

"And it had to be on the ocean?" I ask.

He shrugs. "After spending seven years landlocked in Durham, it seemed like a good idea. There's something liberating about a view that never ends."

"I can't argue with that."

Topher nods, one resolute bob of his head. "Feel free to explore."

His tone says the offer is genuine, but the little tension wrinkles around his eyes are saying something else.

"Please," he adds, gesturing. "I've only just returned from the market. I'll finish unloading while you have a look around."

He's already making his way back to the kitchen. And the vibe is completely different now. He starts unpacking the contents of a brown bag and it kind of feels like I've been dismissed.

This is probably the perfect time to have the this-is-not-a-date conversation. But. Maybe it would be rude not to take him up on his offer? And I really want to. I've walked past homes like this for as long as I can remember, but I've never been inside one. Much less with an open invitation to snoop.

"Seriously," he says, making a shooing motion with one hand as he opens his shiny chrome refrigerator with the other. "Make yourself at home."

My neck prickles—a direct response to the idea of making myself at home—and I get a sudden, urgent need to be in another room. So I start with the closest bedroom.

There are three very clean, completely impersonal downstairs bedrooms. Two of them have that amazing view of the ocean. And they're all huge—bigger than mine and Dee's rooms put together. None of them have a suitcase or anything that might suggest Topher is hosting out-of-town or out-of-the-country guests. So the someone he wants me to meet must live here in Nags Head. A friend or co-worker?

I take a left out of the back bedroom and find a giant laundry room, and then an office that's twice the size of my living room. It's a lot of space for one person. But if his mother's prophesy has its way, Topher won't always be alone.

This thought curdles my stomach. I push it away as I cross back through the massive living area. The staircase leads to an intimate seating area with a fireplace-television combo that's only slightly smaller than the one downstairs. The bedroom to its right is the largest by far. It has its own wall of windows and a private balcony—which is tragically unfurnished—and is most likely Topher's. Although there is nothing, no feeling of him here. Just simple, masculine furniture and so much potential.

His entire house feels oddly vacant, waiting to be filled with...

Nope.

I trot back down the stairs, where Topher waits, enormously content on a soft leather sofa. "What do you think?" he asks.

"It's...great."

He frowns. "That wasn't very convincing."

"It's a beautiful house. But. You haven't spent much time here, so..." I laugh, nervously. "Sorry, I don't know what that has to do with anything."

"You're right, though. I've lived here less than a year and..." His eyes narrow. "But how could you know that?"

I have a perfectly weird explanation: emotions tend to leave an impression in porous materials like gypsum and wood and I can usually feel them. But since I already overshared last night, I'll be keeping that to myself.

"Did you really move to the Outer Banks just to be near the ocean?" I ask him.

He takes a moment to reprimand me with crooked eyebrows, with lips pressed in a line. Because I didn't answer his question. But a tiny dimple pops up on the left side, transforming the look into something that transforms me. My chest goes light, like it's filled with helium and I can't stop myself from smiling.

Until I remember Dee telling me that I need to pay attention to how Topher makes me feel.

I go back to the wall of windows—to the never-ending view—and briefly consider pressing my face against the glass to cool my cheeks.

"I followed someone here, actually," Topher says, finally. "A college mate who has a connection at the hospital. But the ocean certainly played a part in the decision."

"What, like a friend?"

"Yeah."

"Just a friend?"

"Yes. He was born and raised on the Outer Banks."

Topher's tone brings another surge of heat to my cheeks. I hadn't meant it that way. Like it matters to me whether his friend is just a friend. But I can't say I'm not a little relieved. Which is just...ugh.

"Good," I say, turning back to him. "I mean, it's cool that your friend was able to help. And that you already knew someone in the area."

He's grinning at me again, trapping me in the warmth of those sunlit sea-glass eyes. And the short answer to Dee's question is conflicted. This look from Topher makes me feel buoyant and elated, but I don't think I should be feeling this way while he's beaming all this second-date energy at me. I need to do or say something to dispel his very-much incorrect assessment. But I just...I don't want to.

So, yeah.

"Now I have a question for you," he says. "About my house. You're not the first to say it lacks character."

"Oh. But I didn't say that."

"You're being polite. I'd like you to be honest."

Yep. Honest, like his reaction to my lack of dating prowess.

"I'm nearly impossible to offend," he says.

Ha. I'm pretty sure I could manage it. All I have to do is be honest about what I want from our relationship.

But the truth's not so easy to define—because I'm more confused than ever. I pat my back pocket. Where is my phone? Not that I could justify excusing myself to call Dee and ask for advice.

"Well," Topher says, followed by a huff of breath. "If it's that bad, perhaps you should keep it to yourself."

"No—sorry. I just remembered that I left my phone in the truck. And Dee..." I stop. Grimace. I'm making myself sound like a child. "I can check in with her later," I say, trying too hard to sound dismissive. "So um, yeah. About your house..." I make a quick scan of the room, like I might find the words I need written on the wall. No such luck. "It's great—like I said—but it doesn't feel like you. You're warm and happy, but your house feels like..." There's a hint of desperation now that I think about it, but I'm not going to be that honest. "It feels sort of vacant, in a way?"

He smiles like I've just paid him the highest compliment. "My happiness is a recent development. Thirty wasn't a very good year for me but I have high hopes for thirty-one."

"That sounds like...are you coming up on a birthday?"

"On the tenth."

"Of October?" I ask.

"Yes. Why does that make you frown?"

"I'll be in Asheville. The wedding is on the eleventh."

Topher's smile grows wider. Which is confusing. Why is he happy that I won't be in town for his birthday?

"Will you celebrate with me when you get back?" he asks. "I'll let you make dinner for me."

"That's a bad idea—not the celebrating part. I'd love to celebrate your birthday, but I—"

"Don't cook," he finishes.

"Good guess."

"It wasn't a guess. When you toured my house, you completely disregarded my kitchen."

Well actually, I was avoiding him and he just happened to be in the kitchen.

"You could take me out for dinner?" he offers.

"Yes, of course," I chirp, turning away to hide my face. I am so far in over my head. I tug at the wooden handle that should open the glass door. But it won't budge.

It's locked, that's all. No need to panic. One flip and I'm breathing salt air. "May I go out onto the deck?"

I don't wait for an answer. But I almost immediately regret my decision because I can see myself here—not just now, but in the future: waking up in one of the bedrooms, walking out onto this enormous deck—part covered, part open to the sky. Taking the private walkway down to the beach for an early-morning swim.

"I was thinking we could walk to dinner along the beach," Topher says, standing beside me now. And I want that too—on a regular basis—because who wouldn't?

"What do you think?" he asks. "There's a place called the Crab Shack about a mile down."

I think it's freaking perfect. But. I did not come here for a perfect second date. "Are we meeting someone at the restaurant?"

His forehead lines and his gaze drops to the weathered wood beneath our feet. Has he forgotten the reason he asked me here?

"The meeting is scheduled for later in the evening," he says.

"Sounds a little ominous."

Topher sighs. "It really does, doesn't it? I'm sorry, that isn't my intention." He frowns at the ocean for a pensive moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "The truth is, I'm having second thoughts."

"Oh. Well, that's...unexpected."

"It's a patient, Leni. Someone I've grown fond of. She's nearly crippled with arthritis, and she's alone. I'm out of options and I thought..."

A patient. Wow. That thought never... "Wait, what were you going to say? You thought..."

Topher shakes his head, like he's saying never mind. But I can't let this go. "Are you asking for my help—for my kind of help? And you want me to do it in a hospital?"

"That's the idea I'm rethinking, yeah."

He's significantly paler now, but I feel a rush—instantly energized with something along the lines of validation. Here's one thing Dee got wrong. Topher not only knows about my healing ability, he's embraced it. And I can help him.

"My mom had arthritis in her hands. Until I was five."

"She had," he says, emphasizing the past tense. Processing it. "How, at that young age, did you even know to try?"

"I don't know. Instinct? Healing was always just something I did. It bothered me if Dee or I had any kind of scrape or bruise and somehow I knew how to make it go away. I can't tell you when it started."