Not Quite by the Book

Chapter Twenty-Five

Davis’s headlights flashed across Hearthstone as dusk settled over the day. A bouquet of wrapped flowers awaited outside the door. More beautiful, fragrant honeysuckle and daisies.

I climbed out and swept the blooms into my arms, thankful the darn bunny hadn’t beaten me to them. “Do I still get a tour of your work in progress?”

Davis pulled a hard hat from behind his seat and met me at the door with Violet.

We kicked off our shoes in the foyer, then moved into the kitchen. I set a bowl of water out for Violet and arranged my flowers in a new vase beside the others.

“From your sister again?” he asked.

“Yep. I used to say I didn’t see the point in giving or receiving flowers, because they’re expensive and they just die. But now I get it. I look forward to this. I love them.” I leaned forward to give each bouquet a sniff. “Ahhh.”

He shook his head, then grabbed the kettle for tea.

I hadn’t stopped smiling since we’d reached the summit during our hike. Not even when we’d raced the final rays of daylight out of the forest. I was sure I’d left something behind today. Emotional or mental, whatever it was, I didn’t want it back.

We relocated to the sitting room when the water boiled. I carried a tray with two cups and a teapot. Davis went to the fireplace to start a fire.

I filled each cup with tea, then curled on the couch with one. “Are you ready for the photographer?” I asked. “Feeling nervous? Excited?”

“Both,” he said. “And maybe a little hopeful.” His cheeks darkened, the way they sometimes did when he seemed to say more than he’d intended.

He wasn’t just hopeful that things would go well, or even that he’d win the contest. I knew now that those things were only the icing. He hoped to save his childhood home and the bookstore. A property that had meant the world to his mother. One where he kept her memory alive.

Davis took a seat on the floor before the hearth and turned to face me. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested strong arms across his knees. Something in his expression was resolute, and I braced for what would come. “I’ve been in competition with my father all my life.” He exhaled long and slow. “First for my mom’s attention and affection. Later for accolades and awards of any kind. He set the academic bar high, which kept me scrambling in high school and college. I was athletic, so he did his best to never attend a game or practice and to make belittling meathead jokes about anyone who played sports. He pressured me to join his firm when I followed him into architecture. And since then I’ve been seeking approval from a man who will never give it. Somewhere around age thirty, I saw my life more clearly, and I stopped trying to please him. I started asking myself what I wanted, and what would please me. I moved into historical renovations full time, and the rift between us grows bigger with every job. I resent him for making me like this. I hate the universe for taking her and leaving him. Then I get so damn mad at myself for feeling any of this.” He released his knees and another long breath. “I’m not real pleased with myself right now for dumping all of that on you, but I hope it helps you understand why I’m kind of a mess.”

“I don’t think you’re a mess.” I felt honored that he’d shared such personal parts of himself with me. And I was doing my best not to fall in love with him for it—and all the other reasons he gave me every time we were together. “I love that you’re fighting for this place, even if I’m not sure why there’s a fight.” I offered a small smile. “I heard you say it was left to you. Can he really change that?”

Davis quieted for a long beat. “My mother put the property in a trust for me. When I marry. My father is the trustee. The property was meant to be a wedding present. She knew she wouldn’t be here for that day.”

I set my teacup aside and crawled onto the floor with him. “She’s with you every day,” I whispered, and I put my arms around his waist, leaning my head on his shoulder.

His arm slid around my back, and we sat in the quiet for long moments. “I’ve been married to my job for so long, I’ve barely dated. Getting married was something I thought I had forever to do. Now I’m thirty-four, single, and fighting with my father over a property I adore, and he wants to throw it away. How did I get here?”

“We get busier until there’s no room for anything else, even ourselves.”

“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it,” he said. “Two extreme workaholics sitting together after a long day of hiking and picnicking.”

“Maybe there’s hope for us yet,” I said.

Davis tipped his head against mine. “I’m glad you’re here, Emma Rini.”

“Back at ya, Davis Sommers.”

He shifted beside me, forcing me to sit straighter. He rose and offered me a hand. “Ready to check out the progress before I get famous tomorrow?”

I accepted with a smile, then stretched up at his side. “What if you never marry? Do you have to marry to get the property?” I asked.

“No. It’s mine on my birthday. Married or age thirty-five was the deal, but dear old Dad can go pretty low in the name of getting his way. I’ve hired a lawyer to check for loopholes. Meanwhile, laying a public claim in Architectural Digest tomorrow by telling my story, Mom’s story, will help. Because the only thing Dad values more than money is being adored. He’d risk his reputation if he sold this place out from under me and the whole town found out.”

I hoped he was right.

Something else came to mind then. “I wonder what your dad’s date thought of your exchange the other night?” Did he not care what the younger woman thought?

Davis’s featured bunched in an embarrassed cringe. “That was my new stepmom, Heidi.”

I clamped a hand over my mouth, embarrassed by my mistake and wholly stunned by the reality. “Stop.”

“She’s thirty-five. We were in the same high school graduating class. Different schools, thank God.”

I squeaked, then tightened my hand.

He expelled a long breath. “Yeah. He’s basically the worst. I didn’t realize how much it bothered me until recently.” Davis sighed, looking more vulnerable and younger than I’d seen him. “All these years, I’ve let myself believe he didn’t affect me. I thought my ability to ignore him was proof of that.” He raised tired gray eyes to mine, taking time to choose his words. “His hostility does more than just make me mad. It sometimes brings out my worst. Like when I was so determined to get into this magazine that I lied and schemed just like him.” His jaw locked and he rolled his eyes upward. “I am truly sorry, Emma.”

I stepped forward, chin up, and my eyes locked with his. “I understand. You love this place, and I hear love can make a person do things they normally wouldn’t.”

Davis nodded, expression painfully serious. “I wasn’t myself when I did those stupid things to try to get you to leave. It doesn’t make what I did any better, but I need you to know that’s not who I am.”

“I think I know who you are,” I whispered. “And I forgive you.”