Chapter 16

He opened it with his mouth poised to greet his new boarder. Instead he stared gaping at a woman that stood nearly eye-to-eye with him, but not just a woman, a young African American woman.

He stuttered in surprise. "Uh…can I help you?"

Stella looked at him steadily before responding. It was obvious why she was here, wasn‘t it? How many people was he expecting today to rent his cottage? "I‘m Stella Burton."

They continued to stare at each other before he remembered his manners. "Oh, right. Sorry…" he gestured over his shoulder. "I just woke up."

"Yes," she said. "I didn‘t give you a time for our arrival. If you need a few minutes, my son and I can start unpacking the car-"

"I can help you," he said quickly. "I just need to…" he gestured behind him again at the unknown entity that was obviously behind his inability to articulate.

She glanced over his shoulder but didn‘t see anything. She met his eyes again, trying not to look amused at his total surprise. She‘d seen it before, either due to her height her youthfulness or her race. It‘s funny how white people assumed that she was white just because she knew how to write and speak using proper English.

"I‘ll get the key and be right out," he said quickly.

"Okay," she turned and heard the door close softly behind her. She had to admit that he wasn‘t exactly what she had expected, either. She had been surprised by how big and tall he was and although this was Kentucky she still hadn‘t expected to hear such a thick country accent. He sounded like he‘d never been off the side of this mountain. Maybe because he was fresh out of bed but damn, his voice sounded like a cross between a grumble and a soft roar….

After the door was closed Riley stood there a moment blinking. Stella Burton was black.

Riley didn‘t consider himself racist, that wasn‘t the issue. But if she understood the situation then she might. He scrubbed his hands across his face and then quickly ran upstairs to brush his teeth and splash his face.

He slipped on his everyday boots and hurried out the front door where the woman and a boy were placing items on the front stoop of the Gingerbread cottage.

The boy, who looked about seven or eight, had been staring at the small house critically. He stopped to watch Riley‘s approach. He had short cropped-golden brown hair and the most piercing grey eyes that Riley had ever seen on a black person—or in this case a multi-racial person. He wasn‘t sure just why the fact that Miss (Mrs.?) Stella Burton had a multi-racial child intrigued him.

Riley hurried to help them while discreetly appraising the woman. She was big but in an athletic and toned way. She was dressed casually in jeans, sneakers and a t-shirt that hugged her curvy torso.

Her dark hair was pulled up to the top of her head in a big afro-puff ball that he could barely stop looking at. Also, he couldn‘t get over her height. It kept his attention riveted in a way that surprised him.

"Keys?" Stella asked as she waited on the stoop with two backpacks thrown over each shoulder. Adam was holding an oversized garbage bag nearly overflowing with towels, pillows and bedding. The man approached carrying the last box from the car propped up on his shoulders…very broad shoulders, Stella noticed.

"It‘s open, sorry." He should have probably mentioned that the house was unlocked. And how many times had he already told her sorry? He wanted to kick himself—the sight of her just surprised him, is all. He hadn‘t expected such a young-looking African American mother to rent his cottage. How old was she, twenty-five, twenty-six?

He helped them carry their belongings into the house, flipping on the light to the main room.

Stella‘s eyes widened in surprise while Adam spun in a slow circle, delight etched across his face. He darted up the stairs to the loft.

"Mom! This is so cool!" he called from the second level.

"Okay…don‘t lean on that bannister," she said weakly.

Riley smiled to himself. "My Dad and Grandpa made that bannister out of an oak tree. It‘s as solid as a boulder."

Stella regarded Riley again, still surprised at the countrified hipster with a deep twangy accent. No…he was what hipsters were trying to emulate. He was surprisingly handsome for a man that had a beard that nearly reached his Adam‘s apple. But it was neat and the moustache curled slightly at the ends so that it looked like he was smiling twice—once with his mouth and the other with his facial hair. He had a buzz cut and she thought he might look better if it was a bit longer, but she had to admit that it all complimented him.

He was tall and big but not like those pro-wrestlers that Adam loved to watch on television. Yet he was still built solid like…well like a mountain man. She turned in order to bring in more of their belongings, or maybe that is what she told herself because she just didn‘t want to keep looking at him and comparing him to something else.

"Here," he said, moving swiftly in front of her, "Let me get those. You can start unpacking your refrigerator items if you like." She let him lift the heavy crate of food that was sitting on the stoop as if it contained tissue paper. He set it in the kitchen by the sink.

Stella couldn‘t miss all the homey touches of this cottage. The hardwood floors were old and uneven with cracks and dents but shined like a mirror. The furniture was out dated but nice in a style that might have seemed fancy back in the 50s with a sofa and two over stuffed chairs that had intricately carved legs and beautiful pastel coverings. There was a floor model television that looked like a polished piece of furniture instead of the thin black flat screens of the modern times. A vase of fake flowers sat on top with…was that a lace doily?