8. Devon
DEVON
Sleepy Hollow Manor greets me in the morning with a twinkle from the sun glinting off her windows. Dew sparkles across the overgrown lawn, and inside, I hear the low tone of a radio.
I peer in through the front windows first, watching as Ember wipes down the foyer woodwork with a dust rag.
Like before, her hair is up in a handkerchief.
Green this time. A sun-kissed tan coats her skin, glowing off toned calves and thighs until it disappears under black shorts.
A tan like that is a novelty here. It speaks of sand beaches and tanning oil, making her stand out more than she already does for a single woman who has moved into town.
Closing my eyes for a few moments, I take a deep breath and attempt to rearrange my thoughts from how beautiful I find this woman into a reality check.
I tossed and turned most of the night. What my mother said at the café made sense, but the fact that Ember had the audacity to call Shue struck me even more.
My mother cares that he’s from Heritage.
I don’t. I care that he’s not me. Working on my property.
And the most nagging thought of all: Working alongside Ember.
I shift my weight, and the porch groans in response. Ember turns to find me peering through the window, and I lift my hand in an awkward wave. She beckons me in, and I’m greeted with the smell of lemon and the lingering aroma of bacon.
I’ll be damned.
Much like in the past, the manor greets me with a warm hug, but in addition to that, freshly laundered white velvet curtains hang on elaborate spindles, a large area rug covers the foyer, boasting a settee and end tables, both with vases of orange, yellow, and red flowers, all the colors of a beautiful fall.
The house feels more like a home and less like the unwanted structure it was before she moved in.
“It looks nice,” I tell her, peering around.
The dust is gone, all but eradicated. The musty smell now replaced with that crisp, clean scent.
“Was that a compliment?”
“Barely,” I admit. I’m still too shocked to praise her fully, and the lingering unfairness of it all still eats away at the fibers of my being.
“I agree,” she says, turning with a blue feather duster in her hand. “I think you can do better because the place looks amazing. I’ve cleaned walls, I’ve dusted sideboards. I’ve even buffed and waxed the floors.”
I swallow, taking in the tiny strands of hair poking out around the handkerchief to frame her face.
I don’t know what I thought. That I’d come into the house with barely anything done?
Maybe her sitting on her hands like a damsel in distress?
Pretty much. Ember seems spoiled to me. She bought this huge house.
She afforded it when I couldn’t, even while being significantly younger than me. “It looks like a home,” I concede.
“You seem surprised.”
“I’m merely expressing my opinion about the house.”
She narrows her gaze. “Look,” she says, twirling the duster.
“If we’re going to work together, we’ll have to try to get along, and I’ll be honest with you, nearly every cent I had was used to buy the place, so whatever you’re going to charge with helping to fix it up is precious to me.
” She clears her throat. “I feel like I needed to tell you that to be fair to you. I might decline things that the house needs, but that’s because good enough has to be good enough right now until I… make more money. Somehow.”
She ends her speech with her gaze on her shoes, cheeks burning a pretty ruddy color. Vulnerability wafts off her, and since I know a thing or two about that, I can sympathize. “I appreciate the honesty.”
I peer at her from head-to-toe again, taking stock of her clothes and body language.
I really had her pegged as the trust fund type.
Buying a house out of nowhere sounds like something a spoiled rich kid would do.
Especially buying it sight unseen, and picking up your entire life and moving without a second thought.
Who does that if you don’t have money left to bail you out?
“You could look into some grants available from the city.” The words are out of my mouth before I can fully comprehend what I’m saying, and by the time they’re out, I can’t take them back without being a giant dick.
I heave out a breath, resigned to my bleeding heart taking over.
“They have rehab budgets for maintaining the historic houses. If you turn the manor into a business, there might also be some funds available for that as well. Harvest Falls loves small businesses, so the saying goes. Just reach out to my mom. She instated most of them.”
Ember’s eyes widen the more I talk. “You’re kidding. They have that?”
Fuck me. The times I spent talking with my mom about fixing this place up come roaring back. All the grants I could use. Money from the town. All I needed was a down payment, and I would have been set.
Too late now.
“Absolutely.” My fingers flex as I silently fume inside. I don’t want to help her stay here. I should’ve kept my big mouth shut, it was just so hard seeing her stand in front of me and being helpless. My protective instincts kicked in.
This is all my mother’s fault. Not that Ember bought the house, but that I’m basically Mr. Harvest Falls Junior, as if being the mayor is a family business.
Ember’s shoulders release as if an imaginary clamp had been holding them down. “I’ll do that today. Thank you,” she offers as an afterthought.
Face scrunching up, she pulls the top of her shirt up, showing a thin, bare section of stomach, then sneezes, the sound high-pitched and adorable.
“Bless you.”
“Thank you. The dust has been getting to me. I can’t wait until it’s gone. Here, let’s go into the ballroom again. I won’t tease you this time about modernizing it. Once was enough. Plus, I would never change a thing about this beautiful old house.”
An uncomfortable shiver runs up my spine at the reminder of her awful renovation suggestions.
I really thought she had a screw loose. I suppose that’s another reason why I believed she was some spoiled rich kid.
“Actually,” I stop her. “I know you want to get that done, but I should look at the porch. The hole is a hazard. A liability. If your insurance company does a surprise inspection, it won’t pass. ”
“Oh, I didn’t think about that.” A frown turns her lips down at the corners.
“I’ll check the structure and let you know the damage. It could be only a few floorboards need to be replaced. It could be the whole thing is rotted out and needs to come down.”
She grimaces. “Fingers crossed for whatever is cheapest.” Her shoulders sag again, and she takes a deep breath.
“I’ll do that now and get you a verdict this afternoon.”
I walk out with my toolbox, avoiding the hole that’s now been surrounded by planters and a couple of buckets.
It’s clear the boards around the hole are rotted out.
What I really need to do is get under the porch and check the foundation, then check the roof for leaks because the rot would be caused by water.
Hours pass. The chill air keeps me comfortable as I crawl in and out from under the porch, then multiple trips up and down the ladder, making notes as I go.
They built these houses like tanks back in the day.
That’s all good news for Ember because even I thought this was going to be a bigger deal than it is.
And big deals cost big money. This, however, is best case scenario. I guess Ember has all the luck.
The house is quiet when I head back inside. No radio playing softly. No Ember dusting the foyer. The space feels a little less cozy and inviting without her in it, like she fills so much of the space, even for a newcomer.
A clang comes from the kitchen, so I take the long, narrow hallway down to the back of the house.
At the end of the hallway, a door leads to a small porch and the backyard, the trees, weeds, and bushes tangling in unwelcome ways, like they’re their very own No Trespassing sign.
The exterior door looms open, and the screen door blows a little in the breeze, softly nicking open and closed.
Paintings and pictures line the hallway. Ember’s mark has made it here as well. Everything is dusted and radiating in the soft yellow glow of the ceiling lights. The floors groan under my feet, welcoming me with sighs and hellos, just like it used to when it was Old Man Lewis’s place.
I stop in front of the last picture before the kitchen.
His wife wearing wedding white with a lace veil around her dark hair stares off into the distance with a ghost of a smile.
I never saw her like this, but I can tell from the mole on her chin that it’s her.
She was a stunner. A woman who looks like she stepped out of Casablanca and into Harvest Falls.
I imagine them in this house, newly married, making it their own just like Ember is now.
The house seems to accept her presence, yielding to her elbow grease and glowing under the attention.
I peek inside the kitchen to find Ember at the counter.
A mix of old and new come together like a beautiful painting.
The antique sink yields to modern silverware.
The outdated countertops are filled with pumpkin decorations and canisters, a knife block and bread box.
I step toward her and the floor creaks under my weight. Ember jumps, spinning, her fist gripped around a butter knife dripping strawberry jelly. Her body relaxes the moment she sees me. Sighing, she says, “Devon. Holy shit. You scared me.”
“Sorry, I called out for you.” Did I? I’m not sure that I did. The house drew me in like a siren’s call, beckoning me into its depths with a string of memories and new fascination. “Did you see this picture out here?”
“Which one?”