Rating/Warning(s)/Note(s): T, Shadows
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Prompt: Sip

"This is a cottage?" I asked as I looked at the house in front of me. It was two stories, the façade covered in rounded, grey river stones, with a huge oak door. Bay windows jutted out from rooms on either side of the front door, giving it a pleasing, balanced look.

"Granted it's small compared to that monstrosity," I added, waving to where the main house was. It had a somewhat matching façade, in that it was made of river rocks, had a huge oak door and bay windows on either side. But, where the cottage only had one window on each side, that house had four, and its door was double wide. I'd never seen a six-car garage before, but it was dwarfed by the house surrounding it.

"Go inside and look," Alice urged, handing me a key. Turning to Jacob and Marta she gave each of them a set of keys as well. "Jacob, the barn is just over behind those trees, and you can see we had a path made to connect the two buildings. It leads directly from your front door to the cottage's kitchen."

"That's appropriate," Marta teased, poking Jacob in the stomach. Even Jacob laughed, fully agreeing.

The cottage was beautiful. It was like a fairy tale come true, only with all the modern conveniences. Light sconces that looked like they held candles actually contained warm-colored LEDs, which shed a comforting glow over the rooms. Huge rugs cover a wooden floor, over which are arranged furniture that seems incredibly soft.

Marta and I look at each other, and reach out to hold hands as we pull one another from one room to the next. We laugh over the large array of beauty products in the bathrooms, teasing Alice that we may not be vampires but we didn't think we were that ugly. She assures us she only bought what she saw we'd like.

The kitchen has been fully stocked with the same food that could be found in my father's house, as well as what must be recommended by a nutritionist. It's quite an eclectic mix of junk, heavy, and healthy foods. We both refuse a sip of wheat-grass juice, no matter how much she tells us that the girl at the health food store said it was essential for balanced nutrition. I told her she really needed to trust her psychic abilities more and know we wouldn't like that.

We found Marta's bedroom next. It was decorated in warm peach tones, her favorite color. A massive four-poster bed was draped with white netting over a wooden floor that was bleached almost white. The ceiling had a faint blue tinge to it, which was mirrored in the pattern on the sitting chairs that faced out a window from which we could see the barn. "It's like home," Marta whispered. I knew she was from the Mediterranean side of Spain, right on the sea, and it was easy to picture this as a room in a villa. Tears came to her eyes as she dropped my hand and gave Alice a hug, thanking her profusely, not even realizing she slipped into Spanish until Alice answered her in that language.

Now I was curious to see my own room. Unlike Marta, I didn't have a favorite color, it changed with my mood. I sincerely hoped she didn't use some type of mood paint on the walls that shifted like a mood ring. Thankfully it didn't exist, something I was about eighty percent sure of.

I left Marta admiring the paintings of the sea spread throughout her room and the sea shell decorations in her en suite bathroom to find my room. Alice grandly opened the door for me and I gasped.

It was true that I had no favorite color, decoration scheme or artifact, but this room was perfect. The walls were painted a medium blue; Alice informed me it was Edward's favorite. All the woodwork was trimmed in bright white, giving it the feel of a room found in regency England. Bright yellow daises winked at me from the dormer window that overlooked the main house, and my chairs were patterned in blue and yellow to coordinate. The wood of my floor was as dark as Marta's was light, bringing to mind the dark rock islands off the coast of Washington.

Along one full wall were built-in bookcases. I recognized all my books from school, as well as others that I had copies of in my father's house. In one shelving unit there appeared to be a ton of old books. I pulled one out and carefully opened it. "Alice, where did you get this?" I asked as I realized I was holding a first-edition copy of Wuthering Heights.

"There was an estate sale, and all those books came from it," she told me, reaching for another book. "It was obvious the woman's grandson had no idea the treasure he had on his hands. He only asked for a hundred dollars for the entire collection."

"Please tell me you gave him more than that," I said as I carefully replaced the book and began to scan the titles. There seemed to be entire collections from Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, Mark Twain, Charles Dickens and more.

She gave a delicate snort. "I wrote him a check for three million dollars and told him I was ripping him off. He asked if I was insane to pay that much for some old books, and I tried to explain their real worth to him, but I think he was too busy looking at all the zeros on the check."

"Alice, is this?" I asked, trailing off as I showed her what I was holding.

"Yep, that's F. Scott Fitzgerald's signature. I recognize it." She started to point out other things in the room, the doors to the closet, where the bathroom was, but I was enraptured with the books. "There's a third bedroom, when you can tear yourself away. I thought your dad would like it when he visits this Christmas. Your mom and Phil will, of course, stay in the main house."

"Wait, what? My parents are coming for Christmas?" I asked her, gently putting away the book I was holding. I needed to purchase some cotton gloves before I touched them again.

"Well, of course. They're going to want to be here for Jacob and Marta's wedding."

My grandmother had a 'cottage' on the Connecticut shore in Old Saybrook. It had four bedrooms, three and a half baths, a beautiful kitchen, family room, and porch. There were hardwood floors throughout, gorgeous bathrooms with claw-footed tubs, and it was decorated as befit a house by the sea (her favorite color was yellow). And yes, it was smaller than the house my father grew up in, since it was just the summer house. Dang inheritance taxes...there was almost nothing left once the government took most of her estate (she tried to give some of it away to charity, there's a library named after her in Massachusetts). My summer house is the same size as my winter house. Of course, that's because it's the same house, and about half the square-footage of my grandmother's cottage.

I guess I shouldn't complain, I got my grandfather's 1974 Buick Apollo that needed new leaf springs and hadn't had the oil changed in ten years, and saved her china and crystal from being sent to the Salvation Army (yes, I still have it). Guess where I stand on the subject of inheritance taxes! LOL!