CHAPTER 8
BLANCHETTE
The cabin was dim and quiet when I stepped inside, the summer air warm that evening. I set the—now soggy—grocery bag on the small wooden table by the kitchenette.
Moving mindlessly, I began to put things away, throwing out the tub of completely melted ice cream, trying to salvage what I could, rinsing off sticky berries. I folded the receipt and tucked it into my purse. My body felt heavy, like the weight of the day had settled deep.
In the bathroom, I flicked on the light and stared at my reflection.
My mascara had smudged faintly below my eyes, and my cheeks were pale.
I grabbed a tissue and dabbed gently, trying not to look too closely at the sadness that still lingered on my face.
I didn’t want to admit how hard it had been to sit in that garden.
To see the trellis still blooming. To feel everything I hadn’t felt at the funeral. Until now.
And then there was Jonathan.
I wasn’t sure what to make of him…or that odd moment we’d shared.
Something in it had caught me off guard.
Not just the touch, but what it had awakened.
Like a light switch had suddenly been turned on.
And maybe, just maybe, something had flickered behind his eyes too. Or maybe I was just imagining it.
I let out a breath and flicked off the light. Enough.
In my room, I sat down on the edge of the bed, letting my shoes slip off and curling my legs beneath me.
I leaned back on my hands and stared at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle around me.
Letting myself finally breathe. It was so still that I found myself wondering if I’d ever really heard nothing before.
It had been like this last night too, but somehow it still felt unfamiliar. Graymore was never this quiet.
Then…I heard something.
A light scuff outside. Footsteps?
My heart ticked up. The sound of gravel shifting, then…
Three short raps came on the front door. Firm but not loud. Still, it made me jump.
I stood, padding carefully across the floor. The porch light illuminated a shape in the window behind the drawn curtain. Someone tall, eerily still, too narrow to be human. My heart kicked. I hesitated a second before I opened the door.
It was just May, standing with her cane in hand, with a weathered calm face.
My mind’s playing tricks on me, I thought. I’m starting to see things.
She loosely folded her arms over her chest, that half-knowing, half-amused smile tugging at her crooked mouth. “Evenin’,” she said. “Didn’t mean to startle ya.”
“Oh, you didn’t,” I lied nervously, my hand still clenched on the doorknob.
For a second, May tilted her head, facing me just a little too directly for someone who couldn’t see. Her cloudy eyes didn’t move, but somehow it felt like she was looking straight through me.
“Join us for supper?” she asked, voice warm, curious. “Got a roast in the oven, potatoes too. Smells real nice.”
“Oh,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder like I was checking if I had anything more important to do. Frankly, I had had a day and was in no mood to be in anyone’s company. I started to politely decline the invite: “That’s sweet, but I’ve had a long day and I’m a bit worn—”
She raised a hand before I could finish. “Ya need to eat, sugar.” Her tone changed. Still warm, but firmer now. “Especially if your energy’s low. Ya owe us nothin’ but your presence. No obligation to talk or people-please. I’m sure ya do enough of that already at work.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t know…”
She gave a pause, then added, “Come peek. If it looks good but you’re still not up for company…take it back here. We won’t be offended.”
I stood there, halfway in the door. Her words were so simple, her tone convincing. When she spoke, it was like a charming spell. Unlike Jonathan, who had all the power to break one.
Could I be around people and not feel the need to be obligated?
It wasn’t something I was accustomed to.
I’d practiced being polite for so long, I didn’t know how to be anything else…
especially how to just be. But something in May’s voice unclenched a tight knot I hadn’t even realized I’d been carrying.
I blinked, then gave a small nod. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let me freshen up first.”
I didn’t take long.
After washing my face and pinching my cheeks for some color, I smoothed my hair back and wrapped a cardigan around my shoulders.
By the door hung one of the guest lanterns—an old metal one with a glass globe and a brass handle.
I took it down from the hook, and when I twisted the knob, a warm, steady light flickered to life.
Outside, the woods were dusky and pale under the glow of a rising moon. The trees overhead stretched long, their branches shifting gently.
I walked slowly. The reception cabin wasn’t far. Just down the gravel path, right across from my cabin. Not even a couple minutes’ walk, with only the faint creak of the lantern in my hand and the gravel crunching under my shoes to break up the hushed sounds of the summer night.
Somewhere in the trees, an owl called, low and distant. A bush rustled nearby. I told myself not to be afraid. These were the woods, after all. Sounds like that were normal…natural.
As I neared the cabin, I could hear murmured voices, the clink of silverware through a back window. Inside, I could see movement. Shadows cast themselves on the curtains, the glint of firelight shimmered.
The door creaked open before I reached it. May stood there, warm golden light spilling out behind her, her hand on the knob, her face a map of crinkles with an inviting smile.
“There ya are,” she said. “Come on in.”
I stepped inside but then stilled on the threshold. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt something shift. The energy, the air. It felt warm and tangible, like stepping into a shaft of sunlight when I’d been beneath a shade for so long.
Everything looked as I remembered—the check-in counter, the wall of brochures, the soft lamp light warming the front room. Then May led me around the corner of the back wall, through a door I hadn’t seen.
I blinked.
The reception cabin was larger than it appeared from the small lobby, deceptively so. The front entry only hinted at what lay beyond it.
The room held a long dining table near a stone fireplace, with a modest but cozy kitchen tucked off to the side.
There was a row of gleaming copper pots from hooks above the stove and a woven rug softening the hardwood.
The walls were lined with shelves full of cookbooks, candles, and old photographs that I couldn’t make out in the dim lighting.
It felt more like someone’s home, complete with bundles of dried herbs hanging from the windows and chipped mugs and well-loved dishes stacked through the glass of a nearby curio cabinet.
The scent of butter and smoky meat filled the air, along with something faintly sweet. Something familiar. Moonshade berry, maybe?
The table was already made, I saw. A beautiful roast glistened under the soft light at the center, steam curling off it.
A dish of golden potatoes sat beside it, skin crisped and herbs tucked between.
There were fresh herbs in a vase next to it too, a pitcher of water catching the light.
At the far end, a plate of small tarts, their dark filling glinting like purple sapphires over sugar-dusted crusts.
Moonshade berry. I was right. It was warm and inviting in a way that made my chest hurt a little, remembering what I sorely missed, remembering what I’d lost. What I’d given up.
Jonathan sat at one end, elbows resting on the edge of the table, turning a fork slowly between his fingers. He didn’t look up right away, but he must’ve heard me. There was a subtle shift in the air when he finally glanced over.
I was surprised when he stood, the epitome of gentlemanly manners that I, frankly, had not expected from him.
I placed my lantern down on a side table and approached the feast laid before me.
The scent hit me more fully now. My stomach, which had been quiet all day, gave a low, traitorous grumble. I glanced at the roast again, then the tarts, steam still curling faintly from their sugared tops.
May caught the look in my eyes and smiled. “You’re welcome to fix a plate and take it back to your room, if ya prefer. No one’s gonna mind,” she said kindly, giving me an out.
I hesitated.
My plan was to step in, be polite, take my supper, and go. But now…with the fire crackling, the table set, and the food smelling delicious—I felt myself wavering.
“Or ya could stay…your choice either way,” May added. I swore her lip was twitching.
Before I knew it, I sat down at the table.
Guided by something inside, I did what I rarely would: I listened to myself.
May’s smile deepened, like she’d known all along that I’d stay.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jonathan reclaim his seat, sinking down with his heavy weight, replacing the fork on the surface.
“Don’t be shy—dig in. We eat plenty round here,” she said with a wink. Her hand waved toward Jonathan. “This one eats like a wolf.”
Hesitantly, I glanced over. With a pang, I realized they’d been waiting for me to arrive.
He started into his meal, his plate already heaped with food, eating with a kind of hedonistic ease that was neither rushed or greedy.
Instead, I got the impression he was an indulgent man, like he meant to enjoy every bite and didn’t care who saw. It was…oddly attractive.
He looked up then, no doubt catching my piqued interest. But I looked away with a jerk of my head, clearing my throat.
I took a plate and filled it slowly, letting the motions anchor me.
The evening’s slow rhythm—combined with a homecooked meal, the glow of firelight, the gentle company, and smell of fresh-baked moonshade-berry tarts warm enough to rival my grandmother’s—spoke to the woman in me who desperately needed this break from the world and whispered to the nostalgic little girl inside.
Another tight knot I was carrying loosened and a mix of emotions came flooding to the forefront.
This felt familiar.
And for the first time since arriving here, I didn’t feel like a guest.
I felt home.
Jonathan walked beside me without saying a single word. The path back to my cabin was darker now, the moon higher, and the air cooler and heavier with the scent of pine.
Something about walking next to him felt…safe. I hadn’t expected that.
Maybe that’s also because of the wine, I couldn’t help but think. I wasn’t so on edge with him.
When we reached the front steps of my cabin, I paused. He stopped beside me, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly toward the trees like he was listening to something beyond what I could hear.
“Thank you for walking me, and thank May again for the invite,” I said. I didn’t move. He didn’t either.
There was this moment—soft and still—lingering longer than it should have, just like it had at my grandmother’s cottage. I didn’t understand it.
Our eyes met.
His eyes really were beautiful.
A deep cerulean blue, so vivid they almost seemed lit from within.
I’d tried to read them before, tried to determine what he was thinking…
but it was like trying to peer through an endless ocean and getting only my own reflection rippling back.
They didn’t give anything away. Maybe that was why I couldn’t stop looking.
I was pulled in by something that lay beyond what I could articulate… and that scared me.
I didn’t mean to stare, but I was doing it again.
My breath hitched.
His eyes narrowed on me. Then he murmured, “Red must be your favorite color.”
The comment caught me off guard. I stood there, puzzled. “Huh?”
“Your car. Your sweater…” he said, voice low and warm, his eyes dropping to the cardigan I had on before they flicked upward again. His eyes went back and forth between my own. “Your face.”
Oh gods, am I blushing? I fretted inwardly. Dammit!
He gave the smallest tilt of his head, studying me. His gaze held mine with a quiet intensity, and the air between us seemed to hush, like the entire forest was listening. His lips quirked in mild amusement, as if he could read my thoughts. Awareness prickled across my skin at that look.
He was teasing me.
I stood, grounded in that spot, but part of me was floating, suspended in a moment I wished would never be broken.
Then…
A loud howl. Single and clear, but distant.
It cut through the quiet. Followed by several more joining in chorus, rising from the ridge above.
I flinched. The moment shattered. My breath pulled in sharp.
“Oh my gods,” I whispered, unconsciously taking a step closer to him.
“You okay?” he asked, his arm coming up toward my elbow, hovering just an inch off my skin.
I nodded quickly, trying to brush it off with a small laugh. “The first night I was here…I heard one of them. Right outside my door. It scared the hell out of me.”
“Well, they’re everywhere here,” he said softly. “Their territory. For centuries.”
I swallowed, eyes scanning the shadows surrounding us. “Right.”
“But contrary to what people say, they won’t harm you if you leave them alone. Just stay inside and keep your door locked. You’ll be fine.”
I nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said softly.
We stood there a second longer, both not quite sure what to say next.
Finally, I turned, reaching for the doorknob. “Thanks again. Have a good night.” He just nodded back in acknowledgment.
I stepped inside, looking back one last time. Jonathan was still standing there. Watching. Waiting.
His eyes caught a sliver of moonlight, just enough to produce a metal-like gleam.
With a flit of a smile, I closed the door. Turned the lock and leaned my back against it.
My heart was pounding. Not from fear but from something else entirely.
Meg would be thrilled.