Chapter Twenty-Two
Jack arrived at the Roost early. The nip of autumn was in the air, and dew on the grass glittered like diamonds as the sun rose. He stood before the Roost, its sagging lines and dark wood looking bedraggled and derelict, and he couldn’t help but smile.
This was its last day located on this patch of land where it had sat for more than three centuries.
Within the hour, a crane would lift the roof and carry it to a new location.
Every board, window, and stone would be taken apart.
Alice’s sentimentality must be getting to him, because it was hard not to mourn just a bit for the old Roost.
“You’ve had quite a run,” he whispered to the building. Soon it would be better than ever, positioned atop a solid foundation, wired for electricity, reinforced, and spiffed up, but it was still sad to see it taken apart. Nothing would ever be quite the same.
He was still staring at the Roost like a sentimental fool when Alice joined him. She looked unbelievably sexy in a slim-fitting suede jacket and tall leather boots. He slid an arm around her, and she was trembling. It was chilly, but not that cold.
He pulled her in front of him and wrapped her in his arms. “How are you doing, pretty lady?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been better. I know this is the right thing to do to save this place, but it will be hard to see it taken apart.”
“Heard anything else from that fancy actor?”
She laughed a little. “Not a word. My head is screwed on a little tighter this morning.”
He smoothed a strand of hair behind the shell of her ear. “Good,” he said gently, relieved she had found her equilibrium.
Over the next hour, the heavy construction equipment arrived, the crane rumbling and moving toward the Roost like a vulture.
Construction workers scrambled across the roof, securing cables and preparing for the lift.
A few members of the press had arrived because dismantling the historic landmark was going to make the evening news.
Alice seemed determined to put a good face on things. “At least the Baltimore Ravens flag is gone, never to be seen again.”
“I’ll fly it outside my hotel room,” he teased. He had been staying in the classy historic hotel owned by the Tuckers. Daisy Tucker gave him a good rate since she was still trying to curry his favor over the spat about the Roost.
Soon the construction crew had secured the cables to the roof, then they climbed down and the lifting was ready to begin. The engine of the crane rumbled, the driver pulled levers, and the cables went taut. The rumbling from the crane grew louder.
Alice rotated in his arms, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Every muscle in her body was tense, and she trembled even more.
“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured against her hair.
“I know, but I can’t watch.”
She didn’t sound okay, and even he flinched a little as the roof began to lift a few inches. Bystanders began cheering, cameras were rolling, and the roof swayed as it was lifted higher.
Alice hugged him tighter. She was hating this, and the cheers from the crowd probably made it worse.
“Soon, the Roost will be put back together and welcoming thousands of people every month,” he murmured against her hair.
“It will be bigger and safer. You will have done your magic on the inside, and Reid’s Roost will be the most popular gathering spot in all of Virginia.
Once, this place was a home for people struggling to survive in the wilderness.
It was a gristmill, a brewery, a hospital during the Civil War.
It was a place where a lonely golf course designer and a drunk once camped out. ”
She smothered a laugh against his shoulder, but the creaking of the roof as it swayed in the air was nerve-racking. The crane rotated, carrying the roof clear of the building. The Roost looked strangely decapitated without the steeply pitched roof atop it, and he squeezed Alice tighter.
“Alice, this place has a new lease on life because you made it happen. No matter how long either of us lives, the Roost is going to outlast us both and be here for generations to come.”
“Thanks, Jack,” she whispered against his neck, the tears in her voice making his heart squeeze.
Jack waited until the roof was safely deposited onto the structural support that had been built to hold it.
Over the next few hours, a dozen construction workers scrambled over the house to begin dismantling the second floor.
Old nails were pulled, hammers banged, and mortar knocked to the ground.
All they could do was watch as the professionals took over.
Alice, being Alice, came prepared with a picnic lunch for them.
There was fried chicken, pasta salad with artichokes, and a peach pie with a lattice crust. All of it was packed in a wicker basket lined with a blue-and-white-checkered fabric.
No paper plates for Alice. Her basket came with china plates and silverware strapped to the inside lid, and real wine glasses.
She spread a blanket across the lumpy grass, and once all the food had been taken from the basket, she spread another cloth atop the flat basket lid to serve as a table.
“We’re attracting attention.” He smiled. “This is probably the fanciest picnic anyone has ever seen.”
“Nonsense,” Alice said as she raised her glass of white wine in a toast. “You’re in Virginia. Picnics are an artform here.”
They toasted and watched from a distance as work continued on the Roost. Everything was unfolding according to plan, but Jack kept a wary eye as more members of the press continued to arrive.
Alice was pleased with how her picnic was the perfect accompaniment to watch as work began on the Roost. Who could be anxious on a perfect autumn day with a picnic basket worthy of a Better Homes & Gardens magazine spread?
The glass of pinot grigio had helped, and now she successfully adopted Jack’s confidence as she watched the crane lift one log after another from the second story of the Roost.
It was going to be okay. The decaying Roost had been on its last legs, and now a team of experts was here to rebuild it better than before.
Jack would be working on a golf course in Japan by the time the renovation was complete, but she would send him photos and invite him to return for its grand opening next year.
Jack elbowed her. “Do you recognize those guys?” he asked, nodding to some photographers standing near Micky Hayes and the rest of the local news crew.
They didn’t look familiar. Instead of a shoulder-mount television camera, these guys had cameras with long zoom lenses.
And one of them was pointing it at her. She scrambled to her feet and reached for her basket, preparing to leave. Jack got up, too.
“You don’t know them?” he asked, his voice grim.
“I don’t, but Sebastian Bell is in town, and I have a very bad feeling about this.” Tension gathered tighter as the other two men pointed those awful zoom lenses at her. Now even the local news guy had trained the video on her.
“I’ll take care of this,” Jack said. “This is private property, and I’ll get them to back off.”
Alice turned her back to the photographers and scrambled to clean up the remnants of lunch. She tossed the remainder of the wine and dumped the glasses into the basket. A wine stem broke, but it didn’t slow her down because the reporters were strolling toward her. All of them!
She flung the plates and the chicken bones into the basket.
It would make a greasy mess but she needed to get out of here, and no, she couldn’t abandon the basket.
Littering would add fuel to the social media hail of condemnation.
Gingham fabric could be washed, but another round of intrusive photos would haunt her forever.
“Miss Chadwick?” one of them asked.
“Professor Chadwick,” Jack corrected, and she winced. He meant well, but could she still consider herself a professor after being fired? It was one more thing the paparazzi could skewer her for.
“Professor Chadwick,” the skinny guy corrected. “Do you have any comment on what Sebastian Bell posted about you this morning?”
Her stomach dropped. She’d uninstalled every social media app from her phone, so how could she possibly know what Sebastian said?
“I haven’t read anything,” she murmured, wadding up the picnic blanket and avoiding their eyes.
“It was a video,” the skinny guy said. “He couldn’t have been nicer. You really haven’t seen it?”
Micky got his cell phone out and started scrolling. “Here it is,” he said, turning the phone to her. There was Sebastian, looking remarkably casual in an open-collared white shirt, hair perfectly tousled, with a half-pained, sheepish look of charm as he spoke with a female reporter.
“Falling in love with Alice Chadwick is the best thing that ever happened to me. She didn’t deserve any of the garbage that happened to her while I was in rehab. When I go to my grave, my biggest regret on this earth will have been letting Alice down.”
The breath left her in a whoosh. Sebastian could always turn an elegant phrase, but this statement and apology were pitch perfect. Sebastian was perfect.
Well, he was still a rogue and a scoundrel and possibly battling a drug addiction, but he was as smoothly elegant as ever. It hurt to see.
The reporters kept their cameras trained on her, ready to record anything she said. What could she say? Sebastian had left her speechless.
“She doesn’t have anything to say,” Jack said. “This is private property, and I need you folks to leave.”
“Professor Chadwick, if Sebastian was here, what would you like to say to him?”
She still stood mute, helpless to express the tangle of emotions roiling inside, and Jack stepped up to the plate.
“Alice is too polite to say anything, but she’d like to punch him in the jaw,” Jack said bluntly. “Sebastian Bell hung her out to dry while he lounged in the south of France. A few pretty words can’t blot that out.”
“Professor Chadwick?” the skinny reporter asked.
Her tongue became unstuck. Jack couldn’t begin to imagine the pressure Sebastian had been under, repeatedly carrying the weight of blockbuster movies on his shoulders. Seb wasn’t perfect, but who among them was?
“I wish Sebastian nothing but the best,” she said, and it was true. His good side far outweighed the bad, even if his weaknesses left her open to becoming a punching bag in the press and academia.
Far from pacifying them, her statement triggered a flurry of additional questions. Had she and Sebastian mended fences? How did they meet? Why was Sebastian in Williamsburg and were they seeing each other again?
Jack stepped in to deflect the firestorm. “Alice is way too classy for any of this, and all of you are standing on private property. My private property, and I’m asking you to leave immediately. You can go quietly, or I can call a couple of those cops our taxes pay for each year. Your choice.”
Was there anything better than having a strong man defend her?
She didn’t need Jack’s protection, but it felt good anyway.
The journalists soon drifted away, and Alice reassembled the remnants of their picnic.
She set out a basket of homemade strawberry shortcake cookies while Jack stretched out on the gingham blanket again.
“Thanks for taking the lead on that,” she said with a nod to the last of the journalists leaving the site. “Sebastian is still difficult for me to talk about, and those cameras in my face made me freeze, so thanks.”
“Anytime, Professor,” he murmured as he settled his head into her lap for an after-lunch nap. He said it with such easy confidence, and yet, it wouldn’t be anytime. Soon Jack would be gone, and she would be alone again. She smoothed his hair with gentle strokes, wishing it were otherwise.