Chapter 3 #2
“Thank you for this opportunity,” I said, embracing that raw determination rising in my chest.
“Don’t thank us,” Preston said. “Thank our client. He’s the one who requested you.”
Ifrowned at the house in front of me, my overnight bag digging into my shoulder. What was it with this town and old Victorian houses?
The bed-and-breakfast that would be my home for the next two months was beautiful, I supposed.
It reminded me so much of the library I’d spent the rest of the afternoon in after the lunch meeting, but instead of the turreted porch, it had a large tower on the west side, the roof peaked like a witch’s hat.
It seemed better kept than the library, the paint of the wood trim bright and fresh with no chips or cracks.
The front porch wrapped around the opposite side from the tower, and a large porch swing swung in the wind.
I wasn’t sure why I was so intimidated by it. Though the place was huge—it stood three stories tall—it was homely and quaint. A place that seemed…loved.
Forcing my feet to move, I lumbered up the front steps.
I wasn’t the best at dealing with people in regular social circumstances.
I preferred to be left to myself most of the time, and the city gave that to me.
My clients kept me busy and my workday gave me enough human interaction throughout the week.
I wasn’t even sure how a bed-and-breakfast worked. What would be expected of me when I was basically living in someone else’s home for the next couple of months?
I shivered, and it had little to do with the cold night.
As I reached the door, I was unsure whether to knock.
Preston hadn’t given me many instructions besides the address of the place.
He had promised to email me the information they had sent with his reservation, but it had been hours since I’d left them at the restaurant, and I hadn’t gotten the email.
Gripping the strap of my bag with one hand, I used the other to lift the door knocker up and down three times.
The wood was so thick I wasn’t sure they would hear it, despite the heavy knocker.
But I stood there waiting, trying not to fidget as my nerves ratcheted up with the beats of my heart.
The door swung open moments before I was going to try again. The woman standing in the threshold had a wide, bright smile on her face. She was tall and lean, her dark hair cut short, with streaks of gray that sparkled in the porchlight.
I blinked at her. When I pictured the woman running the small-town bed-and-breakfast, I’d imagined a little old woman with poofy gray hair and an apron. The woman’s eyes were kind and welcoming, but she wasn’t grandmotherly in the slightest.
“Welcome,” she said, her voice soft. “Are you Quinn?”
I nodded.
“My name is Raleigh.” She motioned me inside. “Please, come in. We’ve been excited for you to stay with us. I was just finishing up dinner.”
The warmth hit me the moment I stepped inside.
Even in the entryway, the place felt cozy and lived-in.
The grand staircase curved upward to my right, and to my left, a living room glowed with firelight.
The scent of burning wood and something savory drifted through the air, curling around me like a blanket.
The house was unmistakably Victorian, but with modern touches. There was soft paint instead of wallpaper, updated fixtures, and little hints of personal style that made it feel like a home rather than a museum.
Raleigh led me toward the back of the house, where a wide archway opened into a sprawling kitchen.
A massive farmhouse table sat in the center of the room, and copper pots hung from hooks near the stove.
The smell of dinner—roasted herbs, fresh bread, and something buttery—made my stomach twist. I hadn’t eaten much at lunch, and it hit me now how hungry I was.
Two men sat at the table. One was older with some silver streaking his blond hair, a steaming mug in his hand as he looked up with a welcoming nod. The other was younger, head buried in an open book that completely hid his face.
“Please, have a seat.” Raleigh drifted toward the stove. “You’re welcome to join us for all meals during your stay. Our table is always open.”
I hesitated, gaze sweeping the kitchen. It felt so…normal. So entirely domestic that it almost made me uncomfortable. I didn’t belong in a house like this, in a world like this.
But my stomach cramped again, reminding me I couldn’t afford to be proud and starving.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, pulling out a chair.
The scrape of the chair legs against the floor drew the younger man’s attention. He looked up from his book, and my blood chilled.
Dr. Graham Ramsey.
He stared back at me. His expression was as composed as ever, but I thought there was a hint of shock there too.
There was no hiding mine. My mouth literally fell open.
Raleigh was saying something, but I didn’t hear a word until she walked closer and laid a hand on Graham’s shoulder.
“This is my son,” Raleigh said with a proud smile.
I tore my gaze from Graham’s.
“Well, he’s one of my sons,” she added with a laugh. “You might meet the others eventually—they’re always in and out. But Graham is the only one joining us for dinner tonight.”
She gestured toward the older man at the table. “And this is my husband, Warner. If you need anything at all, just let one of us know.”
With that, she turned back to the stove, stirring something in a pot before opening the oven. The smell of fresh rolls filled the air, and I looked away before my stomach growled loud enough for them to hear.
When I found Graham again, he was still watching me. His stare was guarded but searching, as if his mind never stopped turning. Those blue eyes were constantly assessing, dissecting everything they touched.
It was as if I could feel him reaching out, trying to decipher me. The hairs on the back of my neck rose at the thought.
How was it possible that I’d only been in this town twelve hours, and Graham Ramsey had already been a constant presence in my day?
The anger that stirred inside me was irrational. He’d done nothing wrong—if anything, he’d been kind. This morning at the library, he’d only offered to help.
But maybe that was the problem.
I didn’t need his help, and I didn’t need his evaluation.
I’d almost faltered in court because of him. There had been a moment, a split second, when my hands had shaken; not because I thought I couldn’t win the argument, but because I’d doubted myself. Because I’d seen him, and it distracted me.
“I’m sorry,” I said suddenly, the words spilling out before I could think.
Raleigh turned from the stove, brows lifting in surprise.
“I’m—uh—tired,” I stammered. “I’d rather go to my room, if that’s okay.”
Raleigh’s face softened, though I sensed a hint of disappointment. “Oh, of course, dear. Warner can bring you right up and give you your key.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “Can I bring you a plate of dinner to your room?”
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say no out of sheer stubbornness, but even I recognized that would be ridiculous.
After a pause, I nodded. “Yes. That would be nice. Thank you.”
Warner pushed his chair back and stood. He was taller than I’d expected, with broad shoulders and a calm, kind presence. When he looked at me, I saw a faint reflection of Graham there.
“Come on,” he said with a small grin. “I’ll show you where to go.”
I followed him out of the kitchen, trying—and failing—not to feel the weight of Graham’s stare on me as I left.