Chapter Thirty-Four
W e were in the kitchen, having lunch and talking nonstop.
As we helped each other make sandwiches, we’d continued to show our affection, me planting a kiss on the top of her head as she walked by, and her snagging a hug from time to time.
In her embrace, I felt the world disappearing, in her arms, everything began to make sense.
We were comfortable in every conceivable way, our conversations flowing effortlessly as we discussed our favorite movies and books and everything we loved to do, but it was about so much more. It was about understanding each other, little by little.
I told her about my time at Oxford, and she lit up hearing my stories. Willa shared her own stories from Brown. We both had an undeniable love for New York, and I promised I’d show her the best of L.A.
When it came to food, she was more of a savory type—just like me.
We were both passionate about our professions, mine a creative endeavor that made me come alive, and Willa’s, a drive to change the world one story at a time—her vibe unstoppable.
We talked a little more about my mom, and I had even dug out photos of me with Celeste to show Willa, showing her proof that Celeste had hung out here with me, and more than anything, that I had the precious gift of memories from our time together.
“I still have the books she gave me,” I said. “I just wish she knew I was an architect.”
Willa offered me a knowing look. “She does.”
Whether I believed that or not, I was grateful to Willa for offering me the reassurance that the dead could somehow reach out from the other side.
I appreciated her compassion.
And most of all, I sensed that Celeste would have adored her, too.
But then, the mood turned serious with me having to face what I had put off until now.
I’d invited Willa to use my other computer, which was in a kitchen nook, a place I liked to sit and read emails because I could see the lawn and flower garden from here.
Well, that was before my life imploded.
That backyard sanctuary had become something stark until last night, when we’d made love in that same pool of water, bringing me a level of solace I had not believed possible.
Willa was fast becoming an obsession.
She sat before the screen and gave me a reassuring glance. Her hand trembled as she moved the mouse; it was subtle, but I caught it.
She’d been the one to suggest this, mentioning that my Ring camera would have endless data. It would also reveal I had not stepped out of the house during the night Amelia had drowned.
Atticus had told me he’d found nothing on it. It was the first thing he had checked. My lawyer had prevented anyone else from accessing it, but that order would only hold everyone off for a while.
I’d not wanted to check it because watching Amelia drown would send me over the edge.
If Willa and I were to be more than lovers, there could be no secrets between us, no unspoken tension that might tarnish what felt like the start of something beautiful.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I said, not wanting to crowd her.
She swiveled in the desk chair. “Won’t be long.”
“Thank you for doing this,” I said.
“Of course.” Her focus returned to the screen.
I couldn’t say exactly when I’d fallen for her.
Perhaps it was the night in Cameron’s foyer when I saw her in the hallway, looking ethereal and questioning if she was real.
We’d changed the mood of my home back to livable, the two of us unable to pull away, unable to deny our chemistry.
Back in my office, I tried not to think of Willa having to deal with this traumatic event, even though she’d insisted.
It felt wrong to put this one on her.
She really was a New Yorker, full of confidence and sassy as hell.
I approached my workstation, an adjustable surface that tilted my blueprint while keeping it smooth. Picking up a pencil, I quickly became absorbed in my work.
This was my safe space, a bliss too profound to articulate. The brush of lead on paper seeing form and function merging, giving shape to my design, bringing it to life, transferring what my mind’s eye could envision and seeing it evolve as I drew—the flow between spaces.
Transitioning between rooms felt as natural as breathing, as though the building itself was alive. Structural elements resonated, carrying the weight of the concept through every column and arch.
Time evaporated—taking my mind off what was happening in the kitchen.
Every line sketched was a step toward a horizon where beauty and purpose walked hand in hand, guiding the one who would one day own this property into the dawn of what might be.
Letting light into not only their home, but into their life.
A new existence would begin here for them, inside this waterfront home. Maybe they would have children in this exquisite setting, make a lifetime of memories. Maybe they would see the rest of their life out with a view that would soothe the passing of time.
This private client had declined an in-person meeting. Instead, she’d offered time on the phone to discuss her vision. An older lady, sophisticated, with an elegance and insight that spoke of decades of experience.
“Design me a glass mansion that will overlook the ocean. Bring all that peace into the space. Can you do that for me, Greyson? Cost is not an issue.”
This would be my finest work yet, but then, I always felt that about every new project.
Checking my watch, I realized time had gotten away from me. Willa had been in the kitchen for a long time. Too long, and I’d been distracted.
I hurried back to the kitchen, but Willa wasn’t there.
I continued to search the house, each room, and the back lawn. Then I hurried outside and found my car gone.
Whatever Willa had found had caused her to flee the house.
I slumped down on the front step, heart pounding, questioning if I had the guts to go watch the footage myself.
It was useless. I was going to have to face the truth, face what was on the security camera, because whatever it was, it had Willa fleeing for her life.