The directions took us into the outlying forests. It was autumn and the trees were splashes of red, orange, and yellow. One last turn and Willow Lake came into view. The road, which ran parallel to the shore, was dotted with houses, the last one being the Nightingale House.

The pictures hadn’t done it justice. They couldn’t have. To see the porch, the gables, and the Turret Room looking out over the lake on a computer screen was one thing, but to be standing in front of it was something different, entirely.

Walking up the stone path, Nicole appeared to be in some sort of trance. A realtor with a spindly frame and glasses that required him to constantly push them up the bridge of his nose greeted us on the porch.

“Mr. and Mrs. Price?” he asked.

“That’s us,” I replied, since Nicole was incapable of speech.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Mark Stelowski.”

I shook it and he made a grand, sweeping gesture towards the house.

“Well, here she is. Built in 1893 by—”

“Uh, Mr … uh …?” I interrupted.

“Stelowski.”

“Stelowski, great. I’m going to need you to do me a favor.”

“Uh … of course.”

“I’m gonna need you to sit this one out.”

He blinked. “Oh … um … sure, okay.”

“Thank you.”

Nicole and I stepped inside.

It was my turn to be speechless but she suddenly came out of her trance.

She glanced into the room on our right, which contained a large bookcase built into the wall. “That’s your study.” She was about to go into the living room but stopped. “No! Correction. That’s your Writing Room.”

“Love it,” I replied.

She quickly resumed her path into the living room. “Couch, recliner, television,” she said, pointing around the room.

“Awesome.”

I followed her into the dining room. A large window offered a stunning view of the lake. A wooden pier jutted out into the water.

“We’re eating dinner here, every night,” she said.

“I’ll cook!” I offered.

She grimaced. “Eh … we’ll see.”

We moved into the kitchen. A back door led to a deck and the backyard. While the house had kept its old charm, the kitchen had all the modern conveniences with updated appliances and an island counter. There was a small alcove with a window overlooking the lake.

“Coffee, right there, every morning,” I said.

“While you read to me,” she added.

Nicole went over to a small wooden door and opened it.

“Pantry?” I asked.

“… No.”