Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Jack
I turn off the engine and just sit for a minute, dealing with the overwhelming feeling of being at the Vale but knowing that Uncle Warwick won’t be here.
I didn’t expect this visit to be emotional, but maybe I should have.
Grief still hits me sometimes, when I do or see something I associate with Uncle Warwick.
Sighing, I lean over to grab my overnight bag from the passenger seat and get out of the car.
There’s a guy about my age on the verandah—one of the cleaning or maintenance staff, maybe?
I know Sebastian has people come out weekly to handle the cleaning and gardening, although most of the house is closed up.
After all, Sebastian’s the only one who’s been living in it lately, and what does a single man need with twelve bedrooms?
As I approach the verandah, the man comes down the steps and I get a better look at him.
Sandy-brown hair, brown eyes, medium height, slim build…
he’s completely ordinary-looking, but he’s got this air of authority that ticks all my boxes.
Maybe this weekend will be more interesting than just getting to know Sebastian.
I’ll probably need a distraction from all the memories of Uncle Warwick, anyway.
Stopping in front of the guy, I drop my bag and offer a hand.
“Hi. Jack Tarrant.”
The guy looks at me a little strangely but shakes my hand.
“Seb Walker.”
“Nice to mee— Did you say Seb Walker ?” Is this a relative of Sebastian’s?
One who’s named after him…
a son or nephew? He didn’t mention anyone coming to visit when I texted him, though.
“Yeah.” The guy’s—Seb’s—look goes from strange to wary, which worries me.
What’s he wary about?
“Ah, okay. Sorry. The drive was a nightmare, and my brain’s mush. Nice to meet you, Seb. Is, uh, is Sebastian inside?”
Seb’s face turns blank, and he takes a step back.
“What do you mean?”
What does he think I mean?
It’s a straightforward question, right?
“Is Sebastian in the house?” How else can I say it?
“I…” Seb shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, we must be getting our wires crossed. I’m Sebastian. Seb.”
“Right, but—” Realization slams into me like a freight train.
“You’re Sebastian Walker?”
Seb nods.
“The Sebastian Walker my uncle hired?”
Seb nods again.
Heat rises in my face until I feel like I could fry eggs on my cheeks.
“Of course you are,” I manage.
“I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s nice to meet you.” Didn’t I say that already?
Oh hell. Can this possibly get worse?
Wait….
“Have you met Sarah?” Did she know?
Is that why she insisted I come down this weekend—because she knows Sebastian isn’t a fussy old man and wants me to make an idiot of myself?
Although to be fair to Sarah, she couldn’t be sure I’d be an idiot.
I did that all by myself.
“Yes,” Sebastian—Seb—says.
“When I stopped by the office to get a copy of your apartment key. I think you were in Indonesia.”
“Yes. Right. The tsunami.” I sound like I can’t string words into a sentence.
Christ, what’s he going to think?
He looks faintly concerned.
Maybe he’s wondering if he works for a lunatic.
“Dinner’s nearly ready,” Seb informs me.
“Come inside and we’ll get you settled.” He picks up my bag and is walking back up the steps toward the house before I can get my wits together enough to protest. Instead, I follow.
I’m tired and hungry, and maybe a shower and dinner will kick my brain into gear.
I’m definitely going to have words with Sarah, though.
She could have warned me.
The grand foyer of the house brings memories flooding in.
It hasn’t really changed—the paint’s a slightly different color, and the rug under the big round table is new, but there’s the banister Mal and I slid down whenever we could get away with it, and behind that wall hanging is the paneling with generations’ worth of notches showing Tarrant children’s height.
I take a deep breath.
There’s a deep feeling of home here, yet at the same time, my grief is overwhelming.
Uncle Warwick isn’t here and won’t ever be again.
Almost unconsciously, I turn toward the hallway that leads back to the kitchen and Uncle Warwick’s office—and catch sight of Seb.
He’s watching me, and the look on his face now is one of sympathy and understanding.
“I miss him too,” he says quietly.
When did I get to be that easy to read?
“He’s so easy to miss,” I reply, then make myself smile.
“You worked for him for six years, yeah?”
“Yeah, this time.” Seb turns toward the staircase.
“I should have thought of this before, but I’ve prepped the master suite for you. If you want, I can get one of the other rooms ready instead. It’ll take maybe an hour, though, because they’re all closed up.”
The thought of sleeping in Uncle Warwick’s room sends a pang of anxiety through me as I follow Seb upstairs, but it seems silly to make Seb open one of the other bedrooms for two nights when there’s a perfectly good room ready.
“Uh… Is it…”
“It’s not the same bed,” Seb says, glancing over his shoulder as he once again seemingly reads my mind.
“He hadn’t changed his mattress in about twenty years and refused to, no matter how much I begged him. Then after he… after, I didn’t want to get rid of it. He would have laughed so hard about that. But in the end, it would have been stupid to keep it, so…” He shrugs.
“It’s been painted, the rugs changed, the curtains cleaned. New bed. The other furniture is still the same, though.”
I can probably handle that, but I’ll wait to decide until I’ve seen the room.
Seb probably already thinks I have a screw loose.
No need to add to the impression.