Nicholas Sparks - Message in a Bottle

“I know. It’s just that it’s been three years . . .”

“someday you’ll find someone special again. People who’ve been in love once usually do. It’s in their nature.”

She squeezed his hand again, and Garrett felt her touch warm him. For some reason he didn’t want to let go.

“I hope you’re right,” he said finally.

“I am. I know these things. I’m a mother, remember?”

He laughed under his breath, trying to release the tension he felt. “I remember. And you’re probably a good one.”

They turned around and started back to the pier, talking quietly about the last three years, still holding hands. By the time they reached his truck and headed back to the shop, Garrett was more confused than ever. The events of the past two days were just so unexpected. Theresa wasn’t just a stranger anymore, nor was she just a friend. There was no question he was drawn to her. But then again, she’d be gone in a few days, and he knew that it was probably better that way.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. Garrett shifted the truck into a higher gear as they made their way over the bridge toward Wilmington and Island Diving. Go ahead, he thought. Tell her what’s really going through your head.

“I was thinking,” he finally said, surprising himself, “that if you don’t have plans tonight, I’d like to have you over for supper.”

She smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He was still surprised at himself for asking as he turned left onto the road that led to his shop.

“Can you come by my place about eight? I have some things I have to do at the shop, and I probably won’t be able to finish until late.”

“That’s fine. Where do you live?”

“on Carolina Beach. I’ll give you directions when we get to the shop.”

They pulled into the lot and Theresa followed Garrett into the office. He scribbled the directions on a slip of paper. Trying not to look as confused as he felt, he said:

“You shouldn’t have any trouble finding the place—just look for my truck out front. But if you have any problems, my number’s at the bottom.”

After she left, Garrett found himself thinking about the upcoming evening. As he sat in his office, two questions plagued him without answer. First, why was he so attracted to Theresa? And second, why did he suddenly feel as if he were betraying Catherine?

Theresa spent the rest of the afternoon exploring while Garrett worked in the shop. Because she didn’t know Wilmington well, she asked for directions to the historic district and spent a few hours looking through the stores. Most of them catered to tourists, and she found a few things that Kevin would like, though nothing that suited her tastes. After buying him a couple of pairs of shorts he could wear once he got back from California, she went back to the hotel to catch a quick nap. The last couple of days had taken their toll, and she fell asleep quickly.

Garrett, on the other hand, faced one small crisis after another. A shipment of new equipment arrived just after he got back, and after packing up what he didn’t need, he called the company to make arrangements to send back the rest. Later in the afternoon he found out that three people who had been scheduled for dive classes this weekend would be out of town and had to cancel. A quick check of the waiting list proved fruitless.

By six-thirty he was tired, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally closed up for the night. After work he drove first to the grocery store and picked up the items he needed for dinner. He showered and put on a pair of clean jeans and a light cotton shirt, then went to the refrigerator to get a beer. After opening it, he stepped out onto the back deck and sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs. Checking his watch, he realized that Theresa would be here soon.

* * *

Garrett was still sitting on the back porch when he finally heard the sound of a slowly idling motor making its way down the block. He stepped off the deck and went around the side of the house, watching as Theresa parked on the street, right behind his truck.

She stepped out wearing jeans and the same blouse she had worn earlier, the one that did wonderful things for her figure. She looked relaxed as she walked toward him, and when she smiled warmly at him, he realized that his attraction had grown stronger since their lunch this afternoon, and it made him a little uneasy for a reason he didn’t want to admit.

He walked toward her as casually as he could, and Theresa met him halfway, carrying a bottle of white wine. When he got close to her, he smelled the scent of perfume, something she hadn’t worn before.

“I brought some wine,” she said, handing it to him. “I thought it might go well with dinner.” Then, after a short pause: “How was your afternoon?”

“It was busy. Customers kept coming in until we closed, and I had a load of paperwork I had to get through. In fact, I just got home a little while ago.” He started toward the front door, Theresa right beside him. “How about you? What did you end up doing the rest of the day?”

“I got to take a nap,” she said as if teasing him, and he laughed.

“I forgot to ask you earlier, but do you want anything special for dinner?” he asked.

“What were you planning on?”

“I was thinking of cooking some steaks on the grill, but then I got to wondering if you ate things like that.”

“Are you kidding? You forget I grew up in Nebraska. I love a good steak.”

“Then you’re in for a pleasant surprise.”

“What?”

“I happen to make the best steaks in the world.”

“Oh, you do, huh?”

“I’ll prove it to you,” he said, and she laughed, a melodic sound.

As they approached the door, Theresa looked at the house for the first time. It was relatively small—one story and rectangular shaped—with painted wooden siding that was peeling badly in more than one place. Unlike the homes on Wrightsville Beach, this home sat directly on the sand. When she asked him why it wasn’t raised like the other houses, he explained that the house was built before the hurricane building codes went into effect. “Now the houses have to be elevated so that the tidal surge can pass under the main structure. the next big hurricane will probably wash this old house out to sea, but I’ve been fortunate so far.”

“Don’t you worry about that?”

“Not really. There’s not much to the place, and that’s the only reason I could afford it. I think the former owner finally got tired of all the stress every time a big storm started moving across the Atlantic.”

They reached the cracked front steps and walked inside. The first thing Theresa noticed upon entering was the view from the main room. The windows extended from the floor to the ceiling and ran along the entire back side of the house, overlooking the back deck and Carolina Beach.

“This view is incredible,” she said, surprised.

“It is, isn’t it? I’ve been here for a few years now, but I still don’t take it for granted.”

Off to one side was a fireplace, surrounded by a dozen underwater photographs. She moved toward them. “Do you mind if I look around?”

“No, go ahead. I have to get the grill out back ready anyway. It needs a bit of cleaning.”

Garrett left through the sliding glass door.

After he left, Theresa looked at the pictures for a while, then toured the rest of the house. Like many beach houses she had seen, there wasn’t room for more than one or two people to live here. There was only one bedroom, reached by a door off the living room. Like the main room, it also had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the beach. The front portion of the house—the side closest to the street—contained a kitchen, a small dining area (not quite a room), and the bathroom. Though everything was tidy, the house looked as though it hadn’t been updated in years.