Chapter 8
THE VISIT
I’ve spent the last few days looking through the rest of the house.
My interest landed in a rickety attic, straight out of an old ghost movie, which seemed to be home to numerous boxes full of antiquities and old letters.
I noticed it was also occupied by quite a few spiderwebs.
I would have grabbed some boxes down, but the thought of spiders crawling through my hair prevented that outcome completely.
So, the boxes stay up there for now, alone and unmoved.
I still haven’t ventured to the basement, and I’m not sure I plan to anytime soon. The feeling I felt from it the other day was one I’d rather not revisit. A strange, all-encompassing sensation full of despair is better left unfelt. Especially when I’m already overwhelmed with taking on a new home.
A knock sounds at the door. I quickly turn on the teakettle and make my way to the front room. I called the estate lawyer. You know the one. The one that hasn’t left my thoughts since our meeting in my little shop of horrors.
Him—looming above me as if he were going to save me and devour me at the same time.
And me—sitting on the floor gazing up at this new stranger, dumbfounded in a pool of my own tears.
I’m surprised he would even want to see me again, after such a glorious first impression.
However, this is purely professional after all.
I found his number amidst the paperwork he left, along with the name Ry scribbled above it, which looked more like an accidental pen mark.
I almost didn’t call, thinking perhaps it was not the right man, but the gravelly deep voice that greeted me when he answered the phone was one that is hard to forget.
A voice full of darkness, sin, and danger that seems to release smoke and decay with every word, that also reaches into my feminine existence, calling me to let the wild free.
I ache to see the face it’s connected to again.
My mind can’t help but envision twisted sheets and poor decisions with every word he utters, and I want it.
But, silly girl, control yourself. You do not even know this man.
My bright smile in greeting is met with a deep scowl from him. Quickly my grin falters, along with the faint desire that was in the pit of my stomach just a minute ago. With a frown, I invite him in, because how can someone be so magnetic and have such a foul disposition at the same time?
“I just put tea on,” I say and usher him to the sitting room.
“I don’t drink it,” he announces curtly. Another lovely remark from the man I just couldn’t wait to see again. Perhaps I’ll add a little brandy to mine since this is off to such a superb start.
“Well, I do. So, make yourself at home,” I say through a strained jaw as I try to bite my tongue from saying anything about his ridiculously rude manner of being.
My hand snatches the book I was reading off the marble side table so he doesn’t see it.
I found it amidst the lure of the home library this morning.
An old book that caught my eye from the moment I set them upon the overloaded sturdy shelves.
A book bound in dark green, worn leather with gold embossing.
Tattered but speaking of its beauty even after years of being handled by what I can imagine were its many readers.
Titled The Realms Beneath the Roots with no author to claim it.
An oddity book about ancient tree folklore and the mysterious myths surrounding their origins.
The moment I saw its title, I knew I would be reading it in its entirety.
I place it off to the side, but I see the lawyer eye its binding, anyway.
Thankfully, he says nothing of it. I have so many questions for him, and I hope he will at least be a little more welcoming in his demeanor before I ask them.
I turn on my heels to go fetch the tea, colliding into his hard but comforting chest. He catches me by the elbows, and I look up, wide-eyed and full of surprise.
He must think me a clumsy fool the way one side of his mouth curls up, his freshly shaven skin still giving off a hint of the woodsy smelling aftershave he must have put on this morning.
I inhale, taking it in while trying to be discreet.
He drops my elbows abruptly, realizing how close we truly are to each other, and within seconds, he has changed.
Any smidge of heat from our touch smoldering out into indifference.
Apparently, he has the control that I lack.
I give a curt apology and scramble to the kitchen in embarrassment, but as I look over my shoulder, Ry stands still, watching my every movement.
Once in the kitchen without his eyes on me, I can breathe.
And breathe I do. I attempt to settle the jitters that feel so juvenile right now.
The quiet sigh that leaves my lips is met with my regret about calling him.
Not because of his less than welcoming attitude, but because of the things I’m experiencing within myself.
He’s barely been here five minutes and already my nerves are a tangled mess.
I want to strip down naked, curse him out, and bare my soul all at the same time.
The teacup and the water glass clink together as I bring them out.
Ry is now sitting in one of the green velvet wingback chairs, looking entirely too big for the seat.
His elbows rest on his knees with his large hands falling in-between, like he had been waiting an hour instead of mere minutes. He clears his throat.
“About time,” he says in the deepest voice that could ever come out of a human.
I ignore his comment because I am completely taken in by the beauty of this man. It is then, as I place the tea on the table between us, that I can really take him in. His dark hair is slicked back, dressed in a dark muted grey fitted suit that barely seems to contain his shoulders.
I again notice markings of the strange tattoos that creep out from behind the cuffs of his jacket. The more I stare at the tattoos, the more I forget the purpose of this visit. Instead of asking him more about the house, I’ve suddenly become enraptured with knowing only about him.
“So, Ry? Is that short for anything? Ryan? Perhaps you have a last name?” I ask before I lose my nerve. He looks up at me.
“Just Ry. And yes, I have a last name. It is Heart.” Ry Heart.
“Have you always lived in the New Orleans area?” I ask another question about him, feeling daring.
“Longer than I’d like to admit, actually. But I’ve lived in my share of other places, too. Not sure I’d consider this town a part of New Orleans, though.” He does a quick sweep of me with his eyes and then continues without explaining more,
“So, Jade,” my name sounding too natural coming off his lips, “now that you are here, what are your thoughts on the house?”
What are my thoughts on the house? What are my thoughts? My mind is blank as I look abashedly at this beautiful creature before me, but finally I find myself again and conjure up some words.
“Well…honestly…I adore it. This may sound weird, but there is an unknowingness about it that feels like it’s just for me.” And before I have time to think it through, I add, “In fact—I’m thinking of keeping it after all.”
I look at Ry. I can’t tell if he holds anger or hope in his eyes.
An odd combination that easily goes along with all the other odd experiences I’ve encountered lately.
I surprise myself, though. I hadn’t even realized I had come to that conclusion.
The thought slipped off my tongue that I hadn’t even fully revealed to myself until now.
But it is clear—this house is made for me.
Sitting down in the other green velvet wingback across from him, I look from my steaming teacup to his eyes that may or may not be the same color as my name.
My gaze roaming to each and then to his mouth.
I clear my throat so I can make my next statement without totally losing my train of thought amidst his stare.
“Also, I was hoping you could help and be an advisor of sorts. I don’t know the first thing about owning a house of this size.
I cannot imagine getting rid of my shop, and I could really use some help to figure out if I can manage both.
” Before he can answer, I’m quick to add, “And I’ll pay you…
for your time…of course” I definitely see a hint of surprise in his eyes then.
“I suppose I can.” He finally responds after mulling it over. “I will be rather busy until November, so you may need to stay here a while.” He looks at me with eyes that hint at a dare. “Or go back. I don’t care, but I won’t be coming up to that dreadful place you call home again.”
The way he says the last line is laughable.
A careful request wrapped up in careless indifference.
He has made it very clear how he feels about my beloved Detroit.
But also, he has a point. To wait here two whole months seems like I will give my shop up to foreclosure in no time.
Ry must sense where my mind has traveled, because he quickly adds,
“Have you looked into your uncle’s bank records? He was a rather well-to-do man. He had his share of savings that I think would be yours for the taking, being that you are his only surviving kin.” He looks at me quizzically after stating something that should have been so obvious.
In all the time I was worried about the house, I didn’t even think about any money he may have left. I look up at him, happy for the comment. Happy to think he may be just the man I need for the job.
“I hadn’t. Thank you.” I smile up at him, and he zones in on it with a clenched jaw. I don’t smile often anymore, so it throws me off how natural it feels around him, until the feeling stops and I drop it.