Not Quite by the Book

Chapter Fifteen

I woke, freezing, at half past two.

My teeth knocked together, and my muscles were locked. “What on earth?” I swung my legs over the bed’s edge and gathered the comforter around my shoulders.

The little red light on my new space heater was off.

I stood on quaking legs and thick-fuzzy-socked feet, then went to press the power button. Nothing happened.

I moved to the wall and slapped the light switch.

Again, nothing happened.

All the cuss words I knew spilled from my mouth as I struggled to still my chattering teeth.

The power was out. The furnace was off. My new space heater was useless.

And I was probably getting hypothermia.

I fumbled on the nightstand for my phone and accessed the flashlight app; then I scanned the wider space around me. Unexpected panic welled in my chest. I was alone and cold in a home that wasn’t my own. I didn’t know how to fix the problem, and the space heater was likely the cause. I’d probably overloaded the outdated electrical system. Davis was going to be pissed. He’d made it clear he planned to overhaul these things when I left, but I’d insisted on staying, even after he’d offered to help me move. And I’d denied him access to look at the furnace before I went to bed tonight, even after he’d offered to stop by and take a look.

I’d tried to fix another problem on my own and failed. Apparently my hot-water-tank victory was a fluke.

Suddenly all the other failures in my life formed a kick line and danced into my mind, each stomping a little harder on my heart until tears began to brew.

I’d moved to Amherst to escape my constant, habitual search for love, but my ridiculous heart had latched on to someone who ran hot and cold and didn’t want me. I’d planned to embrace the solitude, but instead, I hated it. I loathed the endless silence. I’d wanted to bake cakes, read, and create poetry, but I’d failed and failed. Now I’d wrecked a historic manor’s electrical system. And there wasn’t any way to hide or run from that. I had to face Davis and explain what happened or freeze to death in my denial.

My pride spent several long moments debating the options.

Eventually I crept downstairs using my flashlight app and the occasional shaft of moonlight through windows to guide me. I flipped every light switch I came across, not expecting, but hoping, that maybe part of the house still had power.

When I raised my phone to the thermostat, I saw that the temperature had fallen below fifty degrees.

I dropped my head gently against the wall and thunked it lightly a few times. Thankfully I’d dressed warmly before bed, because I had to go outside to get a cell signal.

If this was actually the 1850s, I’d have to walk to a neighbor’s home for help and hope I wasn’t eaten by whatever lurked in the shadows.

I slid my feet into sneakers and crept into the night. The extraordinarily loud crunch of gravel beneath my feet seemed enough to wake the dead, and the reaching limbs of ancient oaks looked unusually ominous and gnarly. I didn’t stop until the streetlights came into view, along with a single bar of service on my cell phone screen.

I dialed Davis from a patch of moonlight on a mosaic of fallen leaves, thankful my cell phone’s battery still had a charge.

He answered on the second ring. “Hello?” His voice sounded low and scratchy with sleep.

I pushed images of him in bed from my mind. “It’s Emma.”

“Emma? Are you okay?” His voice cleared, and I felt instantly horrible for waking him.

“I’m okay,” I said. “But the power’s out. It’s cold, and I hoped you could help.”

“Give me ten minutes.”

I took a seat on the curb and waited in a cone of light from a streetlamp.

His truck turned onto the lane nine minutes later. Violet rode shotgun at his side.

He powered down his window as I stood. “Get in.”

I hurried to the passenger door, a comforter tied around my shoulders like a cape. “Thank you for coming.”

Violet licked my face as I settled, and the truck began to roll once more.

“I wanted to do this earlier,” he said, voice thick with fatigue. “Not at two a.m. What happened?”

“The power’s out.”

He frowned in my direction. “You mentioned that. Anything else you can tell me?”

I shook my head, avoiding eye contact.

I gave myself a swift mental kick for not hiding the space heater before I’d felt my way downstairs to call for help.

The truck rocked to a stop outside the manor, and we all piled out.

I unlocked the door, and he led the way inside. Violet stayed with me, while Davis headed to the basement, presumably in search of the fuse box.

I dashed up the steps, desperate to hide my crime. I was nearly at the top when my toe caught on my blanket and pitched me forward. “Shit!”

“Woof!” Violet lunged, steadying me as I made it to the second floor. The tip of my big toe throbbed as I hopped into the bedroom and tucked the space heater behind the open door. And then we went back downstairs to wait.

A few moments later, the manor came to life.

“Fixed for now,” Davis called, clomping back up from the basement. “I need to spend some time with the breaker box soon, but this should hold you.” He stilled and looked around, eyes squinted against the light. “Do you sleep with all these lights on?”

“I tried all the switches before calling.”

He made a small sound I suspected was laughter.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” I said, crossing my arms and clutching the blanket more tightly around my shoulders. “I hate that you had to rescue me. Again.”

“At least you didn’t fall down this time.”

I looked away, then at Violet, thankful she would keep my secret. “Can I offer you a cup of tea before you go?”

He nodded. “Sure. That sounds nice.”

I moved into the kitchen, shutting off extra lights as I went and hoping he’d stay for a while before racing back into the night.

Davis followed. “Any trouble with the stove or hot water? I’m guessing cold baths and takeout are getting pretty old.”

“Nope.” I filled a kettle and placed it on a freshly cleaned burner, then flicked the gas flame to life.

His eyes widened at the flash.

“I relit the oven’s pilot light, then cleaned the stovetop burner tubes and ignitions.” Thank you, North Amherst Library. “The thing probably works better now than it has in years. I don’t know what clogged it up, but whatever it was might as well have been tar. I’m surprised you didn’t notice when you prepped the place for me or found the problem after your last guest.”

“How’d you know how to do that?” he asked.

I would never tell. His expression was too priceless. “I turned up the temperature on the hot-water heater too. I hope that’s okay. No one wants to bathe when the dial is set to low.” That also seemed like something Davis should know, but I didn’t want to dwell on problems already solved.

Several minutes later, we carried our cups into the sitting room, and Davis started a fire in the fireplace.

Violet curled on the floor near the hearth and began to snore.

I thought of Emily, wondering what she’d say if she could see me now. The words of one of her poems came swiftly to mind. The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.

Alone in the night with Davis and his dog, quietly enjoying a fire, definitely felt like an ecstatic experience, even if I knew it shouldn’t. And though I came to town to break my habit of longing for love, I suddenly felt badly for Emily, who’d never had any known lovers. How awful, for a woman who felt things so deeply, to have missed out on the wonders of romantic love and its incredible chemistry.

“How’s the social media coming for Grace’s store?” I asked, redirecting my errant thoughts.

Davis frowned. “Slow.”

“Does everyone at Village Books use the same IBOOM handle?” I asked as a new thought tickled the back of my mind.

He rubbed a palm against his darkly stubbled cheek, and for one small beat, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to do the same. “Yeah. Why?”

I bit my lip as a dozen little things popped into mind and a swarm of bees took flight in my stomach. “Does Grace have season passes to UMass?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

I couldn’t remember seeing her in anything with the team’s logo, or even in the team’s colors, but online she’d seemed like a huge fan. And she didn’t like hot wings, but online she’d gone as far as to rate several local shops. She’d looked borderline confused when I’d mentioned a wing buffet the first time we’d met.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, one brow arching high.

I weighed my next words carefully in case I was wrong. “She’s seemed off every time we’ve spoken in person. Kind and sweet, but not fun-loving and silly. No dad jokes.”

I suppressed a groan as my mind spooled faster.

“Michael carried a tablet with him to the register today when you were working. The IBOOM group was up,” I said. “Oh, my goodness. Historically_Bookish is Michael,” I said, feeling utterly daft. Of course I hadn’t connected so fully with someone more than twice my age. Of course Grace had seemed different in her emails than on IBOOM. She wasn’t Historically_Bookish.

“Michael?” Davis asked.

“It has to be, right?” I sifted mentally through our online encounters and compared those to the in-person conversations we’d had in town. “He’s taking classes at UMass, attends all the home games, always has a wink or smile for me.”

“Michael,” Davis repeated, his voice hardening on the word. “Is your online best friend?”

“I wonder if he’s the one who sent flowers,” I whispered, more to myself than to Davis.

Davis frowned. “Does it matter?” he asked. “What about number ten on your list? Giving up on love?”

“I’m not trying to find love, and I’m not falling for Michael. I’m just trying to make sense of the senseless. Besides, if it’s not Michael, then who? Because now I’m convinced it’s not Grace I’ve looked forward to chatting online with every day for the past few years.”

A small shiver wiggled through me despite the warmth of the fire, and I rubbed my palms against my arms to erase the goose bumps.

Davis stood, limbs unusually stiff. “I’ll start a fire in your upstairs fireplace,” he said. “It’s going to take a while for the furnace to get the whole place warm.”

I listened as he climbed the stairs, imagining Michael as Historically_Bookish, and wondering if the possibility annoyed Davis. Because something certainly seemed to.

And if so, why ?

Violet’s ears perked, and she trotted into the kitchen. I followed, too restless to be left with my thoughts.

She rose onto her hind legs and wedged her big head under the lace curtain, then pressed her nose to the window.

The brown-and-white cat sat on my patio. A collection of bunnies dotted the garden. “Welcome to my menagerie,” I said, stroking her soft fur.

Davis reappeared, looking aghast.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” I said, unable to hide my humor.

“No, I just—” He looked around the room, then back to me. “Have you ever had a plan that seemed perfect, until you tried to execute it—then everything that could possibly go wrong did?”

“Uhm.” I drew out the sound, then laughed. “I came here to become Emily Dickinson. Of the ten things I’d hoped to accomplish, I’m only succeeding at the ones that matter least.” And often not very well. “So, yeah. I can relate.”

His keen gray eyes were on me again, and the air thrummed between us.

“Why?” I asked, a little too breathlessly. “What was your plan?”

I wasn’t sure who moved first, but in the next heartbeat, Davis and I met at the room’s center. Toes nearly touching, my back arched, and our gazes locked. One of his hands rose tentatively and skimmed my arm from elbow to shoulder. A small smile tugged his lips as I struggled to breathe.

“Is this part of your plan?” I asked, since he hadn’t answered my question. At least not in words.

He shook his head. “I was thinking of an old literature professor who pushed us to dig deep with our papers, in our work, and in our lives. He kept this quote on the board all year and used to hit it with a yardstick when someone volunteered something profound. ‘Make the most of your regrets.’”

“Henry David Thoreau,” I said. “You had Professor Donohue.”

Davis released me, falling back a step, expression lit with interest. “Sophomore year.”

I hated the loss of his touch, but curiosity kept me focused.

“He was my first class freshman year. Eight a.m. I was nervous, not even sure I was in the right room, and he opened with a swat of that yardstick. I nearly spilled my coffee.”

“I can’t believe we had the same professor. I graduated about three years ahead of you, but we might’ve been at the same parties.”

“I doubt that,” I said. I hadn’t gone to parties. It was hard enough just to make it to all my classes with the long commute back and forth from Willow Bend. “I went to every game I could, though. I always sat right behind the row of topless guys with red letters painted on their torsos.”

Davis barked a laugh and raised his hands into the air. “ M .”

“Shut up.”

He pressed his hands to his chest. “Sophomore to senior year. Swear on Sam the Minuteman.”

“Imagine if we’d met then,” I said, smiling. Instead of here and now.

“I was more fun then,” he said. “You would’ve liked me. I still liked myself a little.”

I offered a sad smile. “I kind of like you now.”

His features softened into something like remorse, and I hoped I hadn’t said the wrong thing. “I should get going.”

The words knocked me back a step. Why was he leaving abruptly again, when everything was going so well? Because I said I liked him? That can’t be it, I told myself. Davis knew I liked him already or I wouldn’t have kissed him.

He patted his leg, and Violet jumped to his side.

“You don’t have to go,” I said.

“It’s late, and I’ve got an early morning,” he countered. “The fires should keep you warm if the breaker blows again.” He turned and I followed.

It took a moment for his words to settle. Davis had lit a fire in the bedroom fireplace. “What about the bats?” I asked, not in a hurry to become the next Mrs. Dracula.

He stopped beside his truck, brows furrowed. “What?”

“You said bats roosted in the chimney so I shouldn’t mess with that fireplace.”

Confusion turned to irritation as he unlocked the door. “Well, I made sure the chimney was clear.”

Violet hopped inside and waited.

His tortured expression would’ve broken my heart if I wasn’t so befuddled.

“Call me if you have any more trouble,” he said.

Then he drove away.