Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
C allum
The moment the final guest files out the front door, Fiona comes running into my arms. She’s shaking. I hold her tight.
“Fiona, what’s wrong?”
“It’s the Hoax!”
“What!” I hold her at arm’s length, resting my hands on her shoulders to study her face. “What’s happened? Did something happen at the party?”
“No.” She shakes her head, red curls bouncing. “It was lovely. Perfect. I’m so loved, so spoiled.” For a moment, her happy smile shines up at me. “Freya went above and beyond. It was incredible.”
“Good. You deserve it.” I kiss the top of her head, working around the tiara.
Reaching up, she pulls the sparkly hairpiece from her head. I help her untangle it from her long, still beautiful, red and golden hair.
“Silly thing,” she says, twirling it between her fingers, her sweet smile telling me it’s the furthest thing from silly to her. I’d bet my house that tiara will go straight into the wooden memory box she keeps all her treasures in.
“Looked cute on you. But what doesn’t?” I take her back into my arms, staring down at her. “Now, the Hoax? What’s got you so upset?”
“There’s an ‘X.’ On the inner wall. Hiding under my wisteria. I saw it as the party was beginning to wrap up. I didn’t want to put a damper on anyone’s fun day, so I waited to tell you when everyone was headed home or to the hotel. Didn’t want to worry them, either. Especially my Golden Girls.”
“You see something that scares you and think of others' happiness first? That’s so you, Fiona. Though next time, I’d have you come to me immediately.” I kiss her. “But I can assure you, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“What do you mean?” Her brow crinkles. “I know you’ve had ‘X’s’ on the outer fence in the past, but how did one get inside the garden walls?”
“Me.”
To get a better look at my face, she pulls away. “You?”
“Aye. But it’s not meant to be an ‘X’ from the Hoax.” I shake my head, my cover blown. “And it’s not permanent.”
“Tell me!”
“It’s meant to be ‘X’ marks the spot for a surprise I set up. ”
“Oh! That’s much nicer than the Hoax.” She snuggles into my side.
“Aye.” I think of my handwriting, and how looking at our maps has me writing my own “X’s” in a way that resembles the Hoax’s. “I’m daft for using an ‘X’ after what you’ve been through with those we shall not name, but I was so focused on the surprise I wasn’t thinking clearly. Speaking of surprises, did you get my gift?”
“Oh my! I’d forgotten all about the bowl—seeing that ‘X’ and all—but it was so lovely. I was so touched, I started crying like a wean.” She comes close, kissing my cheek with her soft lips. “It’s beautiful. I loved it. And the note.”
I reach into my back pocket, slipping out a white envelope, closed with a circle of red wax, the Norse Garden Estate stamp she made sealing it. “Here’s another note for you, love.”
Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she carefully opens the envelope. The note gives her a clue, leading her back to the “X” on the garden wall—the “X” I so daftly made to look like the Hoax’s by accident.
I’ve had a fixture installed, so when the brick is pressed, the better part of the wall shifts over, revealing her surprise.
I take her hand in mine. “Let’s go.” We walk outside, back to the “X” that I’ll be scrubbing off tonight. “Push it.”
She gives me a curious look, reaching up to press the stone.
Nothing happens.
I realize the gadget's been set to my pressure. I’ll have that fixed. Putting my hand over hers, I press down. The wall slides to the side with a low rumble, revealing a short, hidden passageway that leads to a lush garden. As we enter the secret entrance, the fragrance of more blooming wisteria fills the air.
Following a winding cobblestone path, we stand in front of a quaint cottage. Sunlight filters through the canopy of leaves, casting dappled shadows on the moss-covered roof. Well-groomed rosebushes stand at either side of its pink door. When we first bought the place, I offered the studio to the previous owner, Mary Allan. When she decided to go live with her sister, this studio sat empty, waiting for its new purpose.
“Oh my!” Her hand goes to her mouth as she takes it all in. "I had no idea this was here."
“No one has been here since we moved in,” I say. “Only me and Freya.”
The cottage's cream-colored exterior is adorned with ivy climbing up the walls, creating a picturesque scene from a fairy tale. A small wooden sign above the door reads “Whispering Rose Cottage” in elegant script, the name a mere coincidence.
“I left the name,” I say. “For your mam.” I slip the gold skeleton key from my pocket, handing it to her. “It’s all yours.”
“What?” Her palm stays open as she stares up at me. “What?”
“The Whispering Rose Cottage,” I say, wrapping my hand around hers and closing her fingers around the key. It belongs to you.”
The windowed black front door has been painted a dusty rose, the very same shade as the paint sample she shared with Freya back when she was trying to convince my sister to paint our front door that color.
Too overwhelmed to speak, she enters the cottage, greeted by the cozy, inviting atmosphere Freya helped to create. The walls are adorned with Mary's beautiful paintings, each one capturing a different aspect of the Estate: the view of the city from the second-floor balcony, the main garden, and the fountain out front in the circle drive, all in vibrant colors.
The furniture is simple and cozy yet elegant, with plush cushions and warm throws. Their soft fabric is an array of different shades of pink scattered around the sofas and chairs, inviting us to sit and relax.
"This is amazing," she says, taking in the surroundings wide-eyed.
"I'm glad you like it," I reply, proud of our little project. "This was once Mary's art studio. We've kept most of her original pieces here as a tribute to her work. She’ll be coming to visit soon. I hope you don’t mind if we also give her a tour of this place."
Getting over the shock of the gift, she comes to life. “Of course! I’m sure she would love to see all the updates you’ve made to the big house. You can’t leave this beautiful wee studio off the tour.” Fiona goes to a painting hung over the teal sofa table to get a better look at Mary Allan’s work. Mary captured the front view of her then-home, our now Norse Garden Estate, lovingly with each brushstroke.
"She was an incredible artist," she whispers.
"Yes, she was," I say. “And so are you. This place will be great for you to work on your seals. ”
Her pretty face flushes. “I’m not an artist, but I’m sure you and I can find many fun ways to enjoy this sweet space.”
Blood rushes between my legs. “Aye, we will. I can promise you that, wee lass.”
As we explore the cottage further, I show her the kitchen. All the walls in the cottage have been painted a light, airy white, but not this room. The walls are pink. Retro-white appliances have been installed, and the oak wood floors have been refinished to a pale blonde to match the wooden countertops.
She laughs with glee. “A pink kitchen! I love it, but will my wee monster be able to eat a meal in an all-pink kitchen?”
“What about me seems wee to you?” I ask, taking her in my arms for a kiss.
We’ve had Cheffie and Nan stock the place with all her favorite snacks and drinks. Chocolate cream biscuits, multiple flavors of tea, the makings for Cosmos, and flavored martinis for her hen night, as she’s opted for a quiet night in with just her closest friends. We’ll have the rest of the food catered for the event when she picks her date.
Under my instruction, Freya snuck the pink bowl in as soon as Fiona entered the house to find me after the party. The bowl sits proudly on its spot on the counter. “Oh! My bowl is already settled. I love it! It looks as if it always belonged right there.”
“Aye. It does.”
We go up the stairs, the wood treads lit by the pale sunlight streaming in the large oval window set in the stairwell. Upstairs, there's a big bedroom with an oak headboard and fluffy white bedding. French doors lead out to a balcony overlooking the garden, perfect for viewing the city lights at night.
"I can't believe you did all this for us.” She runs her fingers over the pale-pink matching velvet pillows and throws. We settle down on the plush dove-gray settee at the end of the bed.
"It’s yours.”
“Ours,” she corrects me.
“There’s a shed behind the cottage where we’ve moved all your craft supplies so you can work in peace.”
“You’ve thought of everything. This place is perfect for crafting or having space to bake outside of Nan’s domain, and of course, the girls will love it for nights in,” she says.
“Freya will be the first girl to visit—she’s made as much clear to me.”
“She shall. I know she had her hand in this. It’s also an amazing place for guests to stay.” She’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “Can my dad stay for a while? Now that he’s sober and you two are on good terms?”
“I’d like that.”
“Thank you.” She snuggles into my side. “I’d also love it for a romantic night with you. I won’t spend the night here without you.”
“I wanted a place where you can escape from everything and relax."
Correcting me once more, she laughs. “For us!”
“For us.” I lean down, kissing her cheek .
"Thank you," she says softly.
My Fiona is even selfless in the gifts she receives. “I’m so lucky to have ye for my wife.”
Suddenly feeling overcome with emotion, I lean in, kissing her, our love evident in the simple, gentle touch.
“There’s one more surprise,” I say.
Leaning down, I pull the pink box out from under the sofa. I hold it in my lap. Removing the lid, I reveal all the things she’ll be needing soon.
All in pink.