“There are two centres,” he explains. “The maze is split into two halves that mirror each other. The other side originally had a natural pool, but after…well, something happened and they filled it in, back when the Trevainnes still ran the place. When Celeste died, Dax and Sylvie chose that spot for her memorial. Well, more Dax than Sylvie…I think he needed her to be hidden away. Or maybe he wanted people to have privacy when they came to visit her?” He shrugs.
“And you’re telling me that nobody knows about this side…A whole cottage is hard to forget, especially one this adorable.”
“You like it?”
Like it? It was the gingerbread cottage and Snow White’s cottage and Sleeping Beauty’s home in the woods. It was all the stories I’d read to the kids but made real. Crooked walls, a steeply pitched roof that sloped in at the sides, as if holding the tiles up was just too much work for the old thing. It has the appearance of a witch’s hat but one that is growing moss in fits and spurts like wild hair. The walls are a buttery-yellow, and the woodwork is painted dark green like the hedges concealing it. Each window sits higgledy-piggledy in the walls, with no two the same size or shape. Despite being a whole damned house, it also barely reaches the top of the hedges.
“It’s gorgeous. Small though.”
“Looks can be deceiving. Come on inside. I’ll show you.” Ben strides to the door and opens it for me. I reach the entrance and duck my head to go inside, only to meet three steps that lead straight down to a sunken floor. When I stand inside, I’ve got comfortable headroom despite the old, crooked beams lined up above me. Looking around, I find myself in a small, homely kitchen that is fully fitted with a sink at the window, an oven and hob, a small refrigerator, and a microwave.
“It has power?” I ask, despite seeing the proof.
“It does, and a wood burner.” He nods to the furthest corner, a whole ten steps away from the kitchen sink, where a cosy black wood-burning fire stands, its black pipe stretching up to the roof and beyond. “Through there is the bedroom, that door over there has a fully functioning bathroom, and down here—” He leads me to a heavier door with an old turnkey lock. “This is how I beat you to the maze.” He pulls out the key and opens the door, revealing stairs leading down to a lit tunnel.
“Another secret tunnel?”
“Yep.”
“And this one goes to…?”
He eyes me speculatively, as though wondering whether he should tell me or not. I see the moment he makes the decision. His eyes light up, and his lips curve into a shy smile. “If I didn’t have to take you back to Celeste’s fountain, I’d show you.”
“So, you’re going to keep it a secret?”
“No, I’ll tell you…but later.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Can I look around?”
“Of course.” He holds his arm out, and I almost laugh at the way it practically encompasses the entire space. The place is dinky. Dust-free too. The shelves above the counters have food and dishes on them; the bed has a comforter that is ruffled as though someone forgot to make the bed this morning; and it smells like soap andlemon…like Ben.
“You live here?” I ask, finally realising.
He nods but looks away as he answers. “Mostly. I have a room in the house, but I prefer the peace out here,” he admits.
“I bet. It’s like a perfect hideaway.”
“A little house for a little mouse,” he jokes, still avoiding my eyes.
“No, this is a fairytale. This is the stuff stories are made of. Like Rapunzel’s tower. Or Sleeping Beauty’s castle surrounded by thorns.”
Finally, he looks at me. His eyes are full of questions and surprise. “Are you calling me a princess, Honeybee?”
“If the cottage fits,” I tease.
Ben watches me with a growing smile and asks, “Then what does that make you?”
His question stuns me into silence. Not because I don’t have an answer, but because the words that hit my tongue the second he finishes asking are… ‘I’d be your prince, of course.’
Funny how our unconscious reactions can be so revealing sometimes. Here I am with two boyfriends? Lovers? Persons of romantic interest? And yet my heart—or head—wants to tell him I’ll save him. I’ll be the one who wipes that lost, lonely shadow away. Do I really want that? Am I honestly falling a little for the boy who stalks me?
Don’t forget saves you.
Ben has saved me on more than one occasion. In fact, he probably saved me from seeing Tom shot that night on the stairs. If he hadn’t chased me, I might have been shot too. Or perhaps he would have? It’s all so messed up. And maybe that’s why I don’t give him my honest first response? Instead answering, “I guess we’ll have to find out?”
“I’ll look forward to it,” he grins, returning my words to me.
“Me too,” I whisper, feeling oddly excited and guilty foradmitting it out loud.
