Chapter 9 #2
She sucks her lips between her teeth. Her eyes drop to the see-through dress shirt molded to my chest, and her cheeks bloom with color. “Thank you.” She tentatively takes the pile and walks down the hallway. I get to work building a new fire in the fireplace, so the room is warm when she returns.
The fire crackles delightfully as the flames build. Squeaky floor joists signal her return as she enters the room.
My T-shirt and pants swallow her frame, but her cheeks are rosy again, and her lips aren’t as blue as Jack Frost’s.
“Better?” I ask.
“Much.” She rubs the sleeve of the shirt between her thumb and forefinger. “What kind of fabric is this?”
“Cashmere.”
Her mouth drops open. “You have cashmere T-shirts? That’s a thing?”
My shoulder bobs. “They’re comfortable, especially if I’m wearing them for a day and half when I travel.”
“Must be nice to have the world at your beck and call.” She sits cross-legged on the corner of the blankets. “Have you called for our rescue yet?”
I show her my phone screen. “Dead. What about yours?”
“In my purse. In my car. At the bottom of the ravine.”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
“No, it’s fine. I can buy a new phone. I may not be a billionaire, but I can take care of myself. Thank you for rescuing me.”
I meant that I would buy her a new car, but if she won’t accept a cell phone, no way will she accept a vehicle. It will have to show up on her driveway before she buys a new one. It’s the least I can do after she saved me from lead poisoning.
She picks at the hem on the shirt she’s wearing. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
“You said that already.”
“We don’t have coffee, but say whatever’s on your mind. I deserve it.”
I crouch next to the fire and poke the logs. “Did you know this is the first time I’ve ever built a fire?”
She nibbles the edge of her lip. We both realize I’m giving her an out. Getting angry about her lying to me doesn’t serve either of us. In light of the rest of the day we’ve had, it’s not important. No harm, no foul.
She hands me the duffel bag. “Camping wasn’t part of your childhood? Shocker!” She wiggles her fingers next to her sarcastic smirk.
“Was it part of yours?”
“Mom loved digging in the dirt. Dad didn’t. So after she died…he was never big on vacations anyway.” She shrugs, like staying in her little corner of the world was no big deal. I want to push for more about her childhood, but one question burns stronger than any other.
“How old were you when she died?”
Her eyebrow lifts. “We’re doing this?”
“I want to know about her. If you’ll tell me. She’s why you love this house, right?”
She wanders to the bookcase, and her fingers dance over the wood. “We’d bring picnics up here. I’d play while she researched.”
“Did she ever figure out why some of the rooms feel misshapen?” This room in particular feels like its dimensions don’t fit with the rest of the house. It’s too small for what it should be.
“If she did, it’s in her notes.”
“Glad we moved the boxes out of your car.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze drifts aimlessly around the room.
I didn’t mean to remind her of her car. Change the subject, man.
“What was it about this place that your mom loved so much?”
“She spent her childhood listening to stories about what this house used to be. The parties, the town gatherings. According to Collin and Archer’s grandma Valerie, every Christmas Eve, Thomas and Harriette hosted a gala and invited everyone in town, even the kids.
Then at midnight Santa would hand out presents.
Who wouldn’t fall in love with the magic and romance? That’s why you bought it, isn’t it?”
“Romance? No. Magic, maybe. My brother and I hiked up here when my parents dragged us to town. Helped us feel normal instead of like trust fund kids.”
“Because Ivy League educations and private jets are such a nuisance.” Her soft, pouty lips soften the sarcasm.
“Someone did their homework.”
She shrugs. “Harvard. Summa cum laude. Supermodels sprinkled throughout your history to round out your”—she drops her eyes to my chest—“education.”
I haven’t dated many supermodels. Interesting that’s the additional fact she added to the mix. And that she can’t keep her eyes from where my shirt’s plastered to my skin. If I didn’t know better, I’d worry Mayor Zoe is attracted to me. “Jealous?”
“Washington was a good school.”
Not what I meant, but I’ll let her get away with the diversion.
“You were a political science major. Minor in history. One long-term boyfriend until your junior year, then nothing.”
“But you didn’t know I wasn’t mayor?”
“My assistant missed a few things. Like why did you let me talk you out of being a senator all those years ago?”
“You were right. It wasn’t the right path for me.”
“And being your dad’s assistant is?”
“He’ll retire soon, and then it will be my turn.”
“That’s what you want?” Now that I know her, I change my opinion. She’ll do a phenomenal job serving Rainwater Bay, but it’s hard to see her living such a small, secluded life. Where’s the fun? The freedom?
“It’s what I’m meant to do.” The words sound like a rehearsed phrase she’s said so many times, the words have lost their meaning.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I grew up watching Dad take care of our town. What better job is there?”
“The one you pick for yourself. One you’re passionate about.”
“I love my home. This house is proof that Rainwater Bay is special. That’s why Thomas Reeves moved his family out of San Francisco.”
“It’s more than a house to you.”
“You can’t restore something unless you understand its heart, and this home has a beating heart vital to the history of Rainwater Bay. If you don’t understand that, how can you hope to renovate it back to its original grandeur?”
Her passion is refreshing. I kick my feet out in front of me and recline on my elbow. “Sounds like story time. Okay, Mayor, tell me all about the Reeves’s estate. Make me believe in it like you do.”