Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
G eorge Hindley was in custody. The news from Mack should have made her feel better as Rose readied herself for bed, made it possible for her to sleep. The day’s events, though, the memory of her encounters with him, the nagging ache at her wrist, woke her up repeatedly, each time with a gasp.
When her clock displayed five am, she got out of bed and pulled on leggings beneath the oversized flannel shirt she wore.
She sat down at her desk, a cup of tea in hand. Pressing pen to page, Rose rewrote the problematic sections of her next Criminy Mystery. A glance at her paper told her the words still weren’t right. Bleary-eyed, she didn’t know how to make them so.
Her editor’s feedback so far hadn’t been surprising. She’d felt it too.
“Something’s missing with this one, sweetie.”
The true story involved a homicide. It was a struggle to adapt it for a middle grade audience. How could she add humor to its sad reality?
Rose stood and stretched before making herself a second cup of English breakfast tea. She moved back to her desk and picked up her pen again. She worked for another half-hour until the sky lightened.
George Hindley was locked up. This knowledge should have forced her outdoors to walk the paths she loved. It was her morning dawn ritual. Her boots remained by the door.
She slipped her sneakers on instead and left the cottage, keys in hand.
She unlocked Briar House’s kitchen door and walked its floors, room after room, floor by floor.
A heavy plastic barrier blocked off the dining room and the second floor bathroom, to keep the dust from the rest of the house.
The crew had made progress, but the repairs would take time.
She stood in front of Magnolia’s bedroom windows on the second floor, studying the grounds below.
The rose garden still thrived, but the cooler temperatures meant lesser blooms. Beyond that, grew the spiral herb garden, in the spot where the barn once stood.
Fog clung to the forest perimeter, as if warning her to stay away.
Broome had asked about her plans to move into the house.
She’d been reluctant to name a date. Especially about moving into this bedroom.
The four-poster bed, its heavy brocade coverings, and its bedspread were all Magnolia’s along with the elegant antique dresser, vanity, and the small chaise lounge in the corner.
All beautiful but different from Rose’s simplistic mishmash of cottage styles.
She wasn’t sure how to go about discussing such things, to ask the others if they wanted any of the bedroom furniture. Would such questions upset them?
Rose’s gaze fell on the bedside table, on the book Magnolia had been reading. How many times had she come into this room while Magnolia read?
Too many to count.
Her eyes twinkled each time Rose handed her a new Criminy Mystery. Her joy inspired Rose to keep writing. It was a privilege to bring that spark to her eyes, hear her comments on a book.
“I should be appalled by what these two get up to. There’s truth in here somewhere. I shudder to think which parts.”
Most of the chapters had a backstory in truth. Each book reflected what it was like to grow up in a town such as Evers Hollow alongside a best friend. The woods were their very own playground, the eight blocks of town their amusement park.
She thought of Finn as she left Magnolia’s bedroom and headed back downstairs.
Seeing him at the bookstore was a surprise.
The memory of his lips on hers ignited her insides, made it difficult to stand still while they’d conversed.
Even worse, when they sat at a table for lunch.
His knees had brushed hers. Her heart beat a bit faster in those seconds.
After Finn left to head back to Asheville, Alec had grilled her again and joked about needing a fire extinguisher before his voice grew serious.
“Remember what I said. He’s your one.”
She returned downstairs. Boxes stood in short stacks by the stairs, waiting for their relocation via Broome’s and Thorne’s pickup trucks.
Moving to the kitchen, she perused the pantry, noting what groceries she’d need to buy for the upcoming family brunch. She’d never hosted a family meal despite her love of baking. They’d rotated between Magnolia, Broome, and Aspen. They were the ones with large tables and plenty of space.
Her specialty was scones. She’d bake two kinds, and maybe a quiche.
With breakfast plans in mind, she returned to the cottage.
Seated at her desk once more, she reviewed her work and found sentences she could work with.
A new idea came to mind, a way to circumvent the murder and make it a smaller part of the story.
She filled a few pages before setting her pen down.
This would be the first book Magnolia wouldn’t get to read. That bothered her each time she thought about the draft being complete. Perhaps that was part of her problem. Her fingers traced the new lines she’d written.
This story was one of hers and Finn’s last. They’d been twelve when it happened. Their adventures grew farther and farther apart. When they started high school, they ended.
She’d worried about high school. Worried about all the expectations that went with a new school—more homework, social things, even kissing.
At fifteen, on a summer day at the creek, she and Finn had shared an awkward melding of lips and tongue that resulted in bumped noses and shy smiles. She couldn’t remember whose idea it’d been, only that it had seemed a good one at the time. They’d had so many firsts together. Why not this one too?
Her stomach felt strange during and after. She’d actually feared she was allergic to kisses. She knew now that it was her first experience with desire. Mere stones skipping on the surface of what was possible.
Their recent kiss—they’d gone from a babbling creek to a cascading waterfall.
She’d responded like she needed him in order to breathe.
Not what she planned. She’d meant to focus on restoring their friendship.
A new beginning. He’d apologized for the things he’d said to her in the past. She’d shared life things. So had he.
Back-to-back knocks came from the cottage door, startling her. Curses. She hesitated when she reached the door. After what happened at the cemetery and the cafe, she needed to be cautious. “Who is it?”
“It’s Finn.”
She looked at the clock. Eight o’clock am. She looked down. Not what she’d call put together in her yoga pants and ratty flannel shirt. She hadn’t brushed her hair when she’d gotten out of bed; she’d wound it in a messy bun.
She opened the door. “You should have texted first. It’s early.”
With a raised eyebrow, he said, “I don’t have your phone number.”
She tried not to look at him, but her eyes had other plans. Shadows of sleep deprivation underlined his eyes. He wore paint-splattered jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He’d showered; the scent of soap clung to him. His hair was still damp on the ends. She wanted to reach out, touch the strands.
He studied her, his gaze traveling from her head to her toes. “Want to get a cup of coffee?”
So he’d meant it, coming back here and asking her to coffee. Even with talk of his promise to Magnolia, she hadn’t expected to see him again so soon after the bookstore. Was that why he was here?
She motioned between them. “Is this about your promise?”
He pressed his hand to his neck. “It’s coffee, Rose. This doesn’t have to be anything more than that. I’d like to spend time with you, catch up on the past six years.”
Magnolia’s words came to her, along with her tone of wistful regret.
You care for Finn Murphy still; you always have. Not everyone gets a chance to fix their misunderstandings, Rebel. I want you to have your happy ever after.
Was such a thing possible? After what happened with Caleb? She thought of Brigette and Jeremy, Broome and Simi, her best definitions of what love was.
She took a breath and another. Caffeine. “Coffee’s good.” She looked down at her clothes. “Should I change?”
His eyes had that look she remembered from his last visit here. One that stole her breath. One that hinted coffee meant something more. “You look perfect.”
That was doubtful. Why had she asked his opinion? “Give me a few minutes.”
As he waited just inside the door, she slipped back into her bedroom and brushed her teeth. Then slipped a bra on beneath her shirt, grabbed a sweater, her keys, and her wallet. Her navy floral rain boots went on last.