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“I stay here sometimes,” he says.
“Why? Wouldn’t your bed be a more comfortable place to sleep? Or do you just like it here that much?”
He gives a chuckle.
“This place isn’t so bad, all things considered,” he says.
That’s not what you seemed to think the last time we spoke. But I refuse to make any reference to the luncheon or the things that happened afterward.
“It’s not perfect,” he admits after a minute. “Sometimes I think it was a mistake to take this job. But other times… this house is different, you know? I’ll probably never see a building like it again. Some of it… like, this morning, I was working on the western side of the house in this section that was added sometime in the 1920’s. I mean, these archways were so—you’re getting bored, aren’t you?”
“Not at all.” Actually I’m shocked—pleasantly shocked—to hear him speak with such passion about the house. “I didn’t realize you were so into architecture. But I guess as a handyman, you’d have to know some of that stuff, wouldn’t you?”
“You say ‘have to’ like it’s a chore. I do actually enjoy my work, you know.”
I peer at him through the darkness, trying to gauge if I’ve offended him. The moon is bright tonight, almost full, but I’m still having a hard time making out his face.
“I’m actually saving up money to go back to school,” he says. “I’m planning to get licensed as an architect. It’s part of why I took this job—the pay is great. Plus, you know, the whole once-in-a-lifetime experience thing.”
I’m not sure why he’s telling me this. After all, in spite of the fact that we now know each other’s names and have locked lips more than once, we’re still basically strangers, aren’t we? There was a hint of something strange, almost bitter, in his voice when he called this a ‘once-in-a-lifetime opportunity’, but I don’t have the chance to make sense of it before he rushes on.
“I know I was a little harsh about some of the upgrading decisions the family made,” he says, “but on the whole this place is pretty fucking cool. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I’ve found.”
In spite of myself, I’m intrigued.
“Like what?” I spent my entire childhood exploring the secrets of this place—and honestly, part of what’s scared me so much about all of these renovations was the thought that all those secrets, all those little things that made the house so special, would be exploited, laid bare for the whole world to see. I mean, this house has friggin’ passageways hidden in the walls. There’s a whole section of the basement that can only be accessed through one of those “secret” hallways. Will every bumbling tourist now be able to explore them?
Ward shifts a little closer to me, dropping his voice. “If you want to know what I’ve found, maybe I should take you exploring.”
Exploring. He says it like it means something wicked and dangerous. A shiver moves down my back. This is dangerous. I jerk away from him before I have the chance to lose my head completely.
“Exploring?” I say lightly, as if it’s a big joke. “Right now?”
He laughs. “Not now. But soon.”
Of course, that doesn’t tell me anything about whether people here know about some of the house’s hidden features.
I pick at the grass beside me. “Will you at least give me a hint about what you’ve found?”
Another laugh. “That would ruin the surprise.”
I sit back, privately satisfied by his response. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but it seems like Ward shares my attitude toward the house and all of its secrets.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” I say. “In the meantime, you never gave me a real answer as to why you’re sleeping out here.”
“Maybe I just like the outdoors.”
I tilt my head. “Or…?”
“Or…” he says, conceding, “maybe I’ve been sleeping on my buddy’s couch these past few months. And maybe he has a lady-friend over tonight and wanted some privacy.”
“Ah.” I rub the back of my neck. How very gentlemanly of him. “But is it really necessary to sleep out here? Couldn’t you have shacked up with another friend tonight?”
He gives another laugh, but this one is a little bitterer than the last one.
“I don’t exactly have a lot of friends around here.”
“No?” Then again, he did just get in a fight for getting it on with a coworker’s girlfriend. “I guess I just assumed that you construction guys were all buddies. Everyone looks so chummy.”
“The rest of them, yeah. Most of them have worked together in Barberville for years. I’m the new guy. And I guess I haven’t made the best impression.”
“You aren’t from around here, then?”
He laughs. “Jesus, when did this turn into an interrogation?” But he goes along with it. “I’m from Chicago, actually. Came down here just for the job.”
“Chicago? That’s a long way.”
“It’s a very important job.”
If it’s that important to him, then why does he risk it all by sleeping with coworkers and getting in fights? But I don’t press the issue.
“Well, now I’ve answered,” he says before I can ask him any more questions. “Now it’s your turn. Why are you out here at this hour? Midnight rendezvous with someone?”
“A rendezvous? Out here?”
“What? You don’t think people have had sex out here before?”
“Why would people have sex in a hedge maze? You know what—don’t answer that.” My cheeks flush. The last thing I want or need right now is to start a conversation with Ward about sex. Not after our last encounter and the way I threw myself at him yet again.
What I need is a very long drink of wine.
“To answer your question,” I say, lifting the bottle of Le Miel Doré, “I came out here because I wanted some fresh air. And to find a private place to indulge in a little light drinking.”
“I thought all Huntington Manor employees were forbidden to drink on the premises?” he says, a smile in his voice.
“Hence the privacy. Obviously.” Unfortunately, I didn’t remember to grab a corkscrew, but I do have that ring of keys. “I hope you like wine, because I’m about to destroy this cork and I refuse to waste a drop.” Even as I say it, I chastise myself. I’m supposed to be getting rid of him. Not inviting him to stay and share in my bounty with me. Not stealing peeks at him out of the corner of my eye, marveling in the way the moonlight shines off his hair.
