Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Saturday couldn’t come soon enough. I didn’t know how tightly wound I had become until Emerley was firmly behind us in the rearview mirror.
Mason had stopped by after work on Wednesday evening while I was at Beck’s.
He found Braden and spoke to him earlier in the day.
According to him, he wasn’t even in Emerley the night Inkfluence was vandalized.
He spent the weekend with his new girlfriend, a story she conveniently corroborated.
Without proof he’d been in town that night, there wasn’t much more the police could do.
Nobody believes him for a second, but belief doesn’t count for much without concrete evidence.
The farther we drive, the more I feel Beck relax beside me. The leg she has been bouncing since she got in the truck has finally stilled. It’s the first time all morning she has appeared more at ease.
“So,” I ask, glancing at her. “Who’s going to be the DJ on this adventure?”
“Me, of course,” she says, already reaching for the stereo. Her phone pairs with the truck quickly, like it has dozens of times before.
She scrolls through one of her many playlists before selecting a song she knows I like. The opening notes fill the cab, and I can’t help the smile that pulls at my mouth.
She listens quietly for a moment before pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head and shifting her body to look at me better.
“I was thinking that while we’re out of town, I’m going to disconnect. Turn off my phone—no calls, text messages, social media. What do you think?”
“It’s a great idea,” I say, tapping my thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.
“Yeah.” She rolls her lips between her teeth before saying, “That way if Braden messages me, it won’t interrupt our time away. Everyone else knows I’m with you. If there’s an emergency, they’ll call you.”
“I love the idea of having you all to myself for twenty-four hours, so I’m not complaining.”
“Can I tell you something?” she asks sheepishly.
“Of course. Anything.” Glancing over, I see her chewing on the corner of her thumbnail.
“I’m nervous to meet your grandfather. I know he’s important to you, and I don’t want to do anything to embarrass you.”
“You’re important to me. There is nothing you can say or do to embarrass me.” I cup my hand under her long hair at the nape of her neck and gently squeeze.
“Do you even know me?” She laughs. “There are an infinite number of ways for me to embarrass you, but I’ll try not to.”
“I do know you. You’re one of my favourite people.”
She holds my gaze, and her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. She’s going to have to get used to my praise. Good thing we have time, and I’m a patient man.
“You’ve never mentioned your grandmother before.”
“No. She passed away when I was young. Nine, I think. Right around the same time I was sent to boarding school.”
“I’m sorry.” She rests her hand on my thigh. “Were you close?”
“I enjoyed spending time with her. It was confusing, though. She looked so much like my mother, but they had opposite personalities. Grandma was loving and affectionate. Interested in my life.” I don’t have to say the other part out loud.
She knows what it’s like to have a mother who’s not invested in your life.
“And your grandfather never remarried?”
“No.” I shake my head. “She was the love of his life. He couldn’t imagine finding someone who could remotely compare.”
“That’s so romantic,” she whispers, staring straight ahead. “I can’t imagine being loved like that.”
I can. I can imagine loving her like that.
We drive, both lost in our own thoughts for a couple of kilometres before I turn off onto a private road. Stopping at a closed gate, I roll down the window and quickly punch in the code that hasn’t changed in over a decade.
Beck raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” she asks as the gate slowly opens to let us pass. “Where are we?”
“The cottage.”
“And why is there a gate?” she asks in a slow, measured tone.
“I suppose this is a conversation we should have already had,” I mumble as we slowly travel down the long gravel lane.
Her eyes narrow, and her voice rises an octave. “What should you have told me, Ryan?” She pulls her hand from my lap and leans away from me.
“This is my grandfather’s cottage. He lives here full-time now, but while I was growing up, this was his summer home.”
“I know what a cottage is,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “What’s the big deal?”
“It’s not a typical cottage. Not like you would find around Emerley.”
“Okay…” She waits expectantly.
“My grandfather is a…” I stumble trying to find the correct words. “A very wealthy man.”
We turn the last corner, and I hear her gasp. “What the actual fuck?” Her eyes widen, jaw dropping.
Beyond the circular driveway, the house rises out of the trees in heavy timber and stone.
Thick wooden beams frame the front, dark and solid, their scale impossible to miss.
Tall windows stretch between the posts, reflecting the landscape back towards us.
It looks less like it was built on the land and more like it grew from it.
Mature oak trees and red maples surround it.
Even with the leaves gone, they are impressive.
I glance at Beck as she takes it in. To me, it’s just the cottage. Home. But I can see how intimidating it must feel seeing it for the first time.
“This is not a cottage,” she says in disbelief. “Hannah’s cabin is a cottage. A couple of bedrooms and a bathroom. You can walk in from the beach with sand on your feet and just sweep it out at the end of the day. This is a mansion.”
“I know it’s a lot.”
She lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “A lot? That’s the understatement of the century. I’m pretty sure you could fit Emerley’s arena inside this place.”
“It’s not that big.”
“Are we seeing the same thing?”
“Are we going to sit in the truck and discuss square footage? Or go inside so you can meet my grandfather? He’s probably inside watching us, wondering why we’re still sitting here.”
She looks down at herself and groans. “I look homeless.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look at me.” Her voice jumps an octave, words tumbling out as she waves her hand up and down her body.
“I’m wearing a flannel shirt, ripped jeans, and Doc Martens, for fuck’s sake.
I should have worn something nicer, and I don’t even have anything with me that would be better to change into. I packed for going to the cottage.”
“I’m wearing jeans and a flannel too,” I try to reason.
She tugs at the scarf in her hair. “I should have straightened it instead of tying it up like this.”
She flips down the visor and checks her reflection, scrubbing at her teeth with her thumb.
“He’s going to hate me,” she mutters, talking more to herself than to me.
“Beck. Look at me,” I say firmly, before she spirals further.
She slowly turns her head and meets my eyes.
“Take a breath.” I inhale through my nose, then let it out slowly. After a beat, she follows.
When her shoulders relax, I ask, “Do you like what you are wearing?”
“What?”
“When you put that on this morning, did you like it?”
She hesitates before agreeing, “Yeah, I love this shirt. It’s cozy.”
“That’s all that matters. I think you’re beautiful. And my grandfather will love you. He doesn’t care about your jeans.”
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“Are you okay?” I ask gently, threading my fingers through hers.
She bites her lip and rocks in the passenger seat for a moment longer.
Nodding once, she says, “Yeah, I got stuck in my head.” Staring straight ahead through the windshield, she exhales.
“It’s just a house. A big, expensive house, but still just a house.
No one’s going to be standing inside judging me because I’m wearing jeans. ”
I squeeze her hand. I know that this has nothing to do with this house or my grandfather, but does she?
“Okay,” she says, more to herself than to me, as she reaches for the door handle. “Let’s go in so I can meet your grandfather.”
We get out, and she waits while I grab our bags.
The chilly breeze grounds us as we make our way to the front door.
She reaches for my hand again, and I bring the back of it to my lips, placing a gentle kiss there as we climb the steps.
The front door opens, and my grandfather greets us with a warm, welcoming smile.
“Welcome. Welcome,” he says, stepping back and gesturing us inside. I almost laugh when I see he’s wearing a red-and-black plaid flannel shirt, similar to Beck’s.
“Granddad, this is my girlfriend, Beck,” I say, smiling. “Beck, please meet my grandfather, William.”
She extends her hand to shake his. “Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for inviting me. Your home is lovely,” she says, glancing around the vast entry.
Granddad’s face lights up. “It’s wonderful to meet you.” Before I can say anything further, he steps forward and gives her a warm hug. She stiffens briefly, then grins as she relaxes into his embrace. As I watch the tension ease from her body, I smile too. This was a good idea.
Seeing them together, I know that being here away from Emerley with my grandfather is exactly what we both needed.
By the time dinner rolls around, Beck is completely at ease and enchanted by my grandfather. She laughs easily at his jokes and listens attentively to his stories. The obvious joy in his eyes tells me he’s thrilled to have such a captivated audience.
“One time when Ryan was around six, he woke up early and wanted to go fishing off the dock, but we didn’t have any worms. I told him we could slip into town and get them when the store opened, but he couldn’t wait.
He disappeared into the cottage and came back outside with a piece of deli meat from the fridge.
He put it on his hook as if it were the most natural thing in the world and tossed his line into the water.
Wouldn’t you know it, he caught a fish in less than ten minutes. ”
He leans back in his chair, smiling at the memory.