Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The house had been empty all afternoon, and it felt like it. Rowan went straight to the fireplace and knelt at the hearth to build the fire while Leah turned on the space heater and stood in the doorway of the library, looking at the wreckage.
The books had been on the floor for three days. She'd walked past them a dozen times on her way to and from the solicitor’s drama, and each time they'd looked like failure. She couldn’t bring herself to put them away—just in case.
"We don't have to start tonight," Rowan said.
“I’m sick of looking at it.”
“I’ll help,” he said.
All the little treasures were put to the side. Leah planned on putting them in a scrapbook. She didn’t know what any of it was, but it felt wrong to throw any of it away.
By nine, the far wall was done. By ten, they'd cleared the desk and most of the floor. The fire had warmed the house to something almost comfortable.
"I want to talk about the lantern walk,” she said while working on a shelf.
He turned to look at her, a book in each hand.
"All right," he said.
"I don't want to pretend it didn't happen." She climbed down off the ladder. "I'm not good at pretending. I never have been. And I'm too old to start."
He set the books down on the arm of the chair and gave her his full attention.
"What do you want, Leah?"
Everything, she thought. That was the trouble. She didn’t want to. When she wanted it, it was a letdown. Letdowns hurt.
"I want you," she said. "I want this, whatever it is. I know it's not simple. I've never been good at this. Nothing in my life has lasted more than a few months, and most of those relationships were with men I wouldn't even cross the street for now. So I can’t promise I'll be good at it."
"Leah—"
"But on that bridge, with the lanterns going up, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I've spent my life waiting for the good thing to get taken away.
Bracing for it. I'm done living like that.
" She took a breath. "So I'm not going to pretend, and I'm not going to be polite and act like we shook hands on that bridge. If the village wants to talk, they can talk.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
"That's what I want," she finished. "You. Here. Us, trying."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, very seriously, "Your zipper's fine, by the way."
She laughed. It burst out of her before she could stop it, and some of the tightness in her chest went with it. "Good to know. Thank you. That's the system working already."
He crossed the room to her. Not in a hurry. He stopped close enough that she had to tip her head back, and she could see the firelight in his hair.
"You didn't ask what I wanted,” he said softly.
"I'm asking."
"You," he said, as if it was the simplest answer. "It's been you for a while, probably longer than it should have been. I kept telling myself it wasn't my place. I'm the caretaker.”
She rolled her eyes. “We both know you’re not the caretaker of just the property.”
"They'll say I'm after the estate."
"The estate currently contains a leaking greenhouse, a roof that might not last, and a bank account I emptied to pay off Gerald Ashworth. If you're after that, Rowan, you need better ambitions."
He laughed, and then he kissed her—just the two of them in a dusty library.
"I don't know the rules," she admitted. "That's the truth. I've never done this with anyone who mattered. I don't know how it's supposed to go."
"There aren't rules," he said. "We make it up as we go. Same as everything else around here."
"That I can do."
They finished the last two shelves together.
With both of them working on the same wall, the job went faster.
He handed books up to her, and the piles on the floor slowly disappeared until there was nothing left.
She stepped back to take it all in. The room looked like a library again.
Even more, it finally felt like it belonged to her.
"Tea?" she said.
"Please."
They ended up at the kitchen table because that was where everything important happened. They talked about everything. He told her about his past, and she told him bits and pieces of hers. Her story was long, sordid, and sad, and it felt like something that could wait.
He yawned, and they both looked at the time. “It’s one o’clock,” he said.
She smiled. “It is.”
“I’ll come over tomorrow and we’ll start a list of priorities,” he said. “Things that need to be fixed first—since you’ll be staying.”
She smiled. “I’m staying.”
She walked him to the door and gave him a quick kiss goodnight. Then she headed upstairs to bed, noticing little things she wanted to change. Make it her own.
Tomorrow would probably bring more Madeline drama, but she was ready. That woman had messed with the wrong Ellsworth.