The bridge ended with the entrance to the quaint neighboring town of Gig Harbor. This once bustling fishing and boat-building community now existed as more of a tourist attraction. People from all parts of the Northwest came to enjoy the small shops and attractive parks that adorned the area.
As she and Amy passed through the small streets, lined with various shops and seafood eateries, Stormy looked upon the busy marina, which was bustling with small sailing ships and some rather nice seagoing yachts.
The drive through town didn’t take long as Gig Harbor’s population of a little over seven thousand people was only spread over an area of about one hundred square miles.
“What was the address?” Amy asked as they rounded the corner onto Goodman Place.
Stormy didn’t respond as she rolled down the window, allowing the crisp sea breeze to blow in. Her eyes were hidden behind a black pair of cheap sunglasses, her brown hair flowing around her face as she inhaled deeply. Her focus and gaze were trained on the surroundings and all the houses lining the streets.
The homes ranged from older two-story Victorians to modern family dwellings, some even passing as mansions, all with immaculately landscaped yards and varying yard art, including some beautiful fountains.
She’d always imagined living in such a place, settling down, and establishing roots. A life of travel had been her parents’ dream, not hers, and she could picture herself in a community like this one, getting married and having children.
She could imagine herself strolling down the sidewalk with a toddler at her heels and a baby in a carriage in front of her. Not far behind them would be their puppy, a beautiful golden retriever.
With a jolt to her system, Stormy pulled herself from those thoughts. What was she thinking? She was in no way ready or wanting a family yet. She had to take care of herself first before she could even think about settling down and raising a family.
She didn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone any money in her bank account. It wouldn’t do her any good to have kids when she couldn’t afford to clothe, feed, or diaper them.
“The address!” Amy called as she waved her hand in front of Stormy’s face to break the enchanted spell that had her staring. “Hello?”
“Oh right, the address,” Stormy responded while she pulled out the piece of paper Sherman had given her. “7200 Goodman Place,” Stormy said. “Right over there.”
They pulled up to an ornate gate with a keypad next to it.
“Whoa! This guy lives alone?” Amy questioned as she pulled up to the gate. They could see the highest peak of the roof at the end of a tree-lined driveway. “It’s really . . . nice—nicer than I was expecting.”
Stormy opened the car door and stood in amazement at the sheer size of the property, and she wasn’t even inside the gate yet. She didn’t have a response to her friend, so she said nothing. She was very intimidated, to tell the truth.
“Do you have the code?” Amy asked.
“I, uh, I don’t know. I didn’t know there was a gate.” Stormy fumbled in her pocket for the piece of paper Sherman had given her. Quickly glancing at it, she found a six-digit code. “Try this.”
Amy put in the code and the gates quietly slid open. Both girls just stood there and stared for a while before jumping back in the car and silently making their way down the gorgeous stone driveway.
They pulled in front of the main home. The place was intimidating with its towers rising high into the air and the rockwork stretching endlessly on both sides.
“Where is the cottage?” Amy asked.
“I think we need to keep driving down the road. It curves next to the house,” Stormy told her.
This was a very bad idea. A very, very bad idea.
Before they went anywhere, Stormy’s phone rang. She looked down and saw it was Sherman calling. Maybe he was going to tell her this wasn’t going to work out after all. She wasn’t sure she’d be upset about that because whoever owned this place would surely know she was an outcast.
“Hello,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Stormy, darling. I hope I caught you before you arrived at the place,” Sherman said, his voice echoing a bit.
“I can’t hear you real well,” she told him, pushing the phone tighter against her ear.
“I’m driving with the windows down. One minute, darling.” He paused and closed them. “There, is that better?”
“Yes, much,” she said, her eyes still taking in the sight of the mansion before her.
“Good, good. Did I catch you in time?”
“We just pulled up,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “Sherman, I’m not so sure about this . . .”