Chapter 24
twenty-four
Willow
After we shake on it, I’m a little off-kilter. The more I know Noah, the more I want to know him at a deeper level.
And the way he looks at me? The way he doesn’t let go of my hand? Am I making it up or…?
Jeez, Willow. He needs a friend. Don’t go and ruin it now.
The front door slams shut and we promptly let go of each other as if we were doing something wrong.
Beck barges in seconds later. “Gotta talk to you,” he tells his brother.
Noah rubs his eyes, setting his glasses in his shirt pocket. “We were going to bed,” he answers. Warmth pools in my center, even if it’s not what he meant. At all.
Beck drops on a sofa. “You’re such a party pooper since you got married.”
Noah’s mouth twitches, but his tone is stern when he replies. “Don’t disrespect my wife.”
“I’ll just…” I trail, indicating the door.
“I’ll be right up,” Noah says.
“No he won’t,” Beck says with a crooked smile. “Sorry, Willow.”
I don’t take my time. I rush it. I rush it so I can fall asleep on the sofa again and get carried to bed by my husband.
I brush my teeth, slip into the short lace nightgown Kiara brought me back from France, and slide under the duvet, making a deep cocoon for myself as I dip as deep as I can. Inhaling Noah’s scent and falling asleep to it.
I wake up with a start when I hear a muttered, “Fuck me.” Noah opens and closes the bathroom door, not trying to be quiet. I open my eyes briefly, then tuck back under the duvet, dozing back asleep to the sound of the shower.
I’m awakened by his strong arms lifting me effortlessly and carrying me to the bed. I let my head roll onto his chest, feeling his breath catch and nearly jumping as I realize he’s bare-chested and this is his skin under my lips.
That’s new.
Two long strides and he’s setting me on top of the sheet and pillow, then folding the blankets back on me, tucking me in snuggly. I extend my legs, sighing deeply. That seems like a natural reaction, right? I don’t think he’s ever caught onto the fact I’m awake the whole time.
But then the feather-like touch of his fingers on my forehead startles me, and my eyes fly open, meeting his gaze.
“My wife sleeps in my bed,” he says under his breath, cupping my cheek in his warm hand.
I can’t find anything to say to that. It seems like an eternity passes where we just look at each other, then he adds, “Okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” I whisper.
And then he’s gone, the sofa creaks, and for a while his deep breathing is all I hear with the occasional ruffling of the wind in the trees.
Too wound up to fall asleep, I slowly become attuned to all the other noises in the house. The faint scuffle of a mouse in the wall. A branch scraping against the roof as the wind picks up. Lane’s footsteps as she tiptoes to her bedroom in the middle of the night.
The furnace kicking in (Lane taking a shower?).
A pipe banging. This house never seems to sleep.
It breathes and creaks just like we toss and turn.
It’s huge and complex, with additions over the decades, rooms that are never used, memories asleep.
It feels like a person welcoming me in its warm embrace. Complicated and loving.
It soothes me.
And yet, right as I’m about to fall asleep, I’m startled by someone calling my name. I push myself up on my elbow. Nothing. Thinking it’s my imagination, I fall back on the soft pillow, pulling the covers tighter over me.
“Willooooow!”
This time it was clear. Lane? Not wanting to wake Noah, I slip out of the bedroom and take a few steps down the dark hallway, toward the tower. But I hear my name again, behind me. Retracing my steps toward the top of the staircase, I continue downstairs.
On the last step, a young boy is looking up at me with a strange smile.
“Hi?” I whisper, continuing down. He seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t say I know who he is.
He’s dressed a little formally, too, like he just attended a funeral or something.
Maybe he’s lost? Maybe we left the door unlocked. “Can I help you?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think so.”
Curious, I continue to his level, shivering under a sudden cold draft. “Are you hungry?” I try. Surely he’s here for a reason.
“Not anymore,” he says, and holy shit…. He disappears.
Poof.
Gone.
And the staircase gets warmer.
I knew it! I chuckle and mentally pat myself on the back. Lilyvale is haunted and I have proof.
That being said, I can’t keep ghost hours.
I need to sleep at night. So I run quietly back up to the bedroom, grab the sage Cassandra gave me (smart woman, that one), and go get some matches from the parlor.
Two young women, barely dressed in translucent white dresses, look at me with envy in their eyes.
“This is crazy,” I mutter. “You better not wake me up again,” I say as I light the sage and start fumigating the parlor.
The women—girls, really—let out a giggle and disappear before my eyes.
“Willow!” A loud whisper almost makes me jump. These ghosts are getting on my nerves.
“And who might you be?” I hiss at the dark shape beyond the doorframe, waving my smoky sage at it.
“It’s me,” Noah says, taking one step closer. He reaches up for the door frame, a question in his eyes, moonlight now kissing his naked torso.
Damn, the man is fine.