Christian waits for me at the front of the car as I gather myself together and open the door, stepping out. I wince a little as I stand up straight, unsure if the stiffness I feel is the result of sleeping in a car for hours or of the very literal beating I took.
Either way, as I shut my door and walk to Christian’s side, I realize that I’m still very exhausted – emotionally and physically. Christian probably senses it - sees it in my slow steps, my hesitant smile - because he reaches out a hand for me as I draw near. I take it, slipping my smaller hand into his, and together we walk up the short three steps to the cottage’s front porch.
Christian enters a code on the little beach cottage’s front door – the key pad probably the most modern thing in sight amongst all the weathered wood,
