18. Gilbert
18
GILBERT
It shouldn’t be this hard to find a housekeeper. It’s been weeks of me burning the midnight oil, yet I have nothing to show for it — save for a fancy workspace.
The kitchen is a vision of luxury, bathed in a soft glow from the under-cabinet lights, casting warm shadows on the Calacatta Gold marble countertops. It’s straight out of a high-end interior design magazine — one of Rachel’s many splurges when it came to this house — filled with the finest stainless steel appliances, a state-of-the-art espresso machine, and everything one could possibly need to create culinary masterpieces.
A shame, really, that it is not currently being used to its full potential.
At almost midnight, the house is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that seems to seep into your bones. And tonight, like many other nights in the last few weeks, the kitchen is more of a makeshift office, papers sprawled across the island counter. I’ve already been at this for hours, perched on a barstool with my laptop open beside me as I sift through more housekeeper resumes, making notes as I research the fancy terms on their admittedly embellished resumes.
My eyes drift to my email inbox, eagerly awaiting a response from Melissa Fontaine, our previous House Manager. She had been with us for years but left about a year after Rachel died. They were close, so I don’t blame her for not wanting to stick around when even I couldn’t bear to. I had reached out to her when I first got back and again recently, hoping she might reconsider coming back. She turned me down immediately the first time but didn’t respond to the second ask. It’s been two weeks, and I’m losing hope.
I keep coming back to the same thought: I need someone who can run the logistics of a household of this size, who will understand our routines, and who can help Ashlynn adjust to living here long-term.
In other words, what we need is a miracle. A unicorn who would fit seamlessly into our lives.
Should be easy, right?
Wrong.
The two names Ashlynn pulled out randomly the other day didn’t pan out. Granted, I didn’t give them enough chance to prove themselves. Or maybe it’s because we both need a House Manager, not a housekeeper.
A new email notification pings, breaking the silence. My heart skips a beat when I see it’s from Melissa. I open it, and her reply brief:
Maybe. It’s been a long time, Gilbert. I need to think about it.
Melissa
I lean back, letting out a weary sigh. A ‘maybe’ is better than a flat-out ‘no.’ That’s promising. I wasn’t persuasive enough the second time, so it’s time I upped the ante.
As I quickly type a reply, I don’t think, my fingers flying over the keys with urgency. My thoughts are with the young woman who’s fast asleep upstairs.
I understand. Name your price, Melissa. I’ll pay whatever you ask. I need someone who knows the house. There’s also Ashlynn…
Before I can finish, the soft pad of footsteps draws my attention. I look up as Ashlynn moves gracefully into the kitchen, like a vision stepping out of a dream, her presence instantly transforming the space. She’s wearing a simple tank top and shorts, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders, green eyes shimmering even in the dim light. Even in her apparent exhaustion, she moves with a grace that takes my breath away.
“Ashlynn, what are you doing up?” I say, my voice breaking the silence.
She opens the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. “Couldn’t sleep. Just getting some water.”
She takes a few sips, then heads to the cupboard where the first aid kit is kept.
I push my laptop aside. “You’re not just here for water, are you?”
She sighs as she sits on one of the bar stools, propping her foot on another stool. “Balm for my feet. It’s... been a long day.”
I rise from my seat, coming around the island to kneel in front of her. “Let me help.”
Her green eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t protest. I gently take the first aid kit from her, opening it to find the balm and bandages.
“Sit on the counter,” I tell her, and she hesitates only for a moment before nodding and hopping onto the cool marble surface.
I start with her left foot, applying the balm to the soles of her feet with careful, deliberate strokes, noting the calluses and blisters from hours of practice. Her skin is soft and cool to the touch, the muscles taut under my fingers — the contrast sending a shiver through me.
“You carry a lot of tension in your feet,” I say softly, looking up into her eyes.
She swallows hard, her vulnerability evident. “I’m used to it.”
“You don’t have to be.” I finish with one foot and move to the other, my gaze never leaving hers. “There are massage therapists who work with athletes. They are professionals at loosening up all the knots.”
Her throat shifts. “All of them?”
“All of them.”
The intimacy of the moment is almost overwhelming. I’m captivated by her, drawn in by her strength and vulnerability. I take my time, wanting to offer her some comfort, some relief from the pain. Wanting to make this moment last.
Wanting to bask a while longer in the underlying attraction swirling through the air, a tension that’s been building since the day she came into my life.
It’s pure torture — the good kind of torture.
“What are you working on?” she asks, her voice a little stronger now, trying to shift the focus away from herself.
I glance at the papers on the island. “Housekeeper applications. This place is too big to manage on my own, and I’ve been… distracted.”
She lifts a curious brow. “Distracted?”
I give her a small, almost shy smile. “By a certain ballerina who keeps me up at night.”
She blushes, the rosy hue in her cheeks deepening. “I don’t mean to.”
“I don’t mind,” my voice drops to a whisper. “Not at all. And since I’m tired of the embellished resumes, I’ve been trying to entice Melissa into coming back.”
“Mel?” she echoes, her eyes widening.
“Yes,” I nod. “She left four years ago. I asked nicely, of course, and she’s thinking about coming back. I thought it might help to have someone around who knows the house, who knows you.”
Her expression softens, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “She was always kind to me. It would be nice to have her back.”
“It would.”
As I finish bandaging her feet, I step back, feeling the fragile moment between us. The underlying attraction, the tension that has been building since the moment I laid eyes on her, is palpable. But there’s also the shadow of the past, the memories of Rachel and Hannah that lingers in every corner of this house, adding to the complexity of our situation.
Her eyes drift again to the island, taking in the stack of resumes and my open laptop, the half-typed email visible on the screen. She looks back at me, her expression a mixture of gratitude and something else deeper in her gaze.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
I can see the surprise in her eyes, as if she’s not used to people doing things for her without expecting something in return.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I tell her, my voice equally laden with unspoken feelings. “I want to do this, and you deserve to be taken care of. Not just your feet, but everything.”
She bites her lip. “Everything?”
I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. “Everything,” I echo, meaning every word.
We stay like that, the kitchen around us fading into the background. The air is charged with something electric, something neither of us is ready to put a name to. At least, not out loud, anyway. The unspoken feelings hang in the air, creating a tension that is both thrilling and unnerving.
Her gaze falls to her bandaged feet, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. “Why are you really doing this, Gilbert?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Why are you helping me?”
I reach out, taking her hand in mine. “Because you matter to me, Ashlynn,” I tell her, my heart pounding in my chest. “More than you know.”
A shudder moves through her, ricocheting through me. “It’s just… people don’t usually go out of their way for me. Not without wanting something in return.”
I lift her chin with my free hand, forcing her to meet my gaze. “I am not people.”
She looks at me, her green eyes wide and searching. The vulnerability in her gaze tugs at something deep inside me. “Gilbert, I?—”
With a slight shake of my head, I press the pad of my thumb to her lips, silencing her. Our gazes lock, the truth of our feelings hanging in the air, something neither of us can ignore anymore. I can also see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between her fear and the undeniable pull between us — emotions I’m sure are mirrored in my own gaze.
Honestly, I’d rather she not say anything else for now. We both know we are treading dangerous waters here. At least, I am. If there’s one thing I’ve gleaned from her nightmares, it’s that there’s a small part of her subconscious that blames herself for the accident, even if she would never say it out loud. I get it, though. There’s so much I still need to tell her. But tonight is not the time. For tonight, I just?—
“I should go to bed,” she speaks around my thumb, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You should.” My voice sounds steady, but inside, I’m anything but.
Neither one of us moves, though. We stay like that for a beat longer, the air between us charged with unspoken words and lingering glances. After what seems like an eternity, she moves first, leaning back slightly so my hand falls off her chin. She pulls her other hand from mine, the connection breaking but the intensity of the moment lingering. And, because I am a glutton for punishment, I hold out an arm for her, which she uses to steady herself as she slips off the counter.
Once she’s on her feet, I reluctantly take another step back and shove both hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. “Goodnight, Ashlynn.”
She gives me a small, tentative smile. “Goodnight, Gilbert.” As she heads towards the entrance, she pauses, looking back at me. “I’ll see you at 5 A.M. with your morning coffee, just how you like it.”
I can’t help but smile at that, the thought of her making my morning coffee somehow comforting. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
And to her staring at my morning wood. And me, pretending not to notice.
Pure. Torture.
She slips out of the kitchen, the soft pad of her footsteps fading away. The silence returns, but it feels different now. The kitchen feels emptier without her, the air charged with possibility, with the promise of what could be.
Tread lightly, Gilbert, my subconscious warns.
I turn back to my laptop, my fingers hovering over the keys as I finish typing my email to Melissa.
I understand. Name your price, Melissa. I’m willing to do whatever it takes and pay you whatever you ask for. That’s how desperate I am. I need someone who knows the house.
Plus, there’s Ashlynn. It’s official; I’m her legal guardian. Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are, but it’s what Hannah wanted. Ashlynn moved in weeks ago, and I think she could use a familiar face around. Someone whom we both trust.
Gilbert
I hit send, hoping my email is equal parts urgent and desperate; so she understands how much we need her. I close my laptop and start tidying up the papers. The sooner I go to bed, the faster I’ll see Ashlynn again.
It’s exhilarating and unnerving how comfortably nestled under my skin she is. I’ve never felt like this before. It didn’t take long for me to grow deeply attached to her, more than even I fully comprehend. She’s become a part of me in a way I’ve never experienced before, not even with Rachel.
Is this how Rachel felt about Hannah? How did she manage to keep her wits about her for six long, excruciating years?
I meant every word of what I said to Ashlynn tonight. She means the world to me, more than she realizes. There is no me without her, as cheesy as it sounds. That’s how I know I want something long-term with her, in whatever capacity she wants — even if it is just a simple friendship.
Tomorrow will bring its own challenges, but for now, I allow myself a moment of hope.