“Miss Abigail Waverly,” she said in a rush.
Fuck. Her surname had struck some chord in his mind, but he hadn’t made the connection until that moment. “You know Abby?”
The forest green eyes lit up and his knees nearly buckled. “Yes, she wrote and invited me to visit, but I thought she lived—”
“In the Upper West Side,” Ben interrupted as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “But she gave you this address?”
Miss Waverly caught her lower lip between her teeth. “There may have been some… confusion regarding the visit.”
Ben growled under his breath as he bent to pick up the coin and slide it back in his pocket. He couldn’t just leave this pitiful creature in the middle of the Heights, with no money or place to stay. Something about her screamedtrouble, and trouble was the last thing he needed when he already had so much of it. But if he walked away, Abby would be furious, and he didn’t have the patience to manage her particular brand of fury today. “I can take you to see Abby, but you can’t stay there.”
Blanching, she swallowed hard and nodded, as though she questioned her decision to trust him. As Ben stormed towards the building in question, a million questions lined up in his head, namely who was this woman andwhy in the hell did Abby invite her to 138 Willow?
Striding up the polished concrete slabs, he did not pause to admire the woodwork surrounding the double doors, or the stained glass in the transom above them. Ben had put the glass in the previous week and was nearly finished hanging the new tiles in the vestibule. The list of improvements on 138 was unending, but the pride swelling in his chest as he unlocked the door could not be diminished, even by this Englishwoman with her white skirts and peculiar eyes.
She hesitated in the doorway as he slid his key into the pocket of his waistcoat. “Oh, do you work here?” she asked as she took a step back.
He clenched his jaw and tossed a quick, “No,” over his shoulder as he crossed the vestibule and began climbing the stairs, noting how the carpet had frayed on the risers, yet again.
“Sir,” she called, her breathing labored, “is this—”
He passed the third floor landing and continued his ascent to the fourth. “This is my building.” Ben caught her elbow just as she yelped and righted her before she could tumble on the loose floorboard that never seemed to stay fixed. He had investigated installing an elevator when he first purchased the property, but retrofitting the structure would have been too costly for the tenants he hoped to attract. “Abby lives here.”
“Oh.” Ben could practically hear the gears churning in her head as she made sense of this information. “So youdowork here, for Abby.”
Ben did not dignify this with a response, nor did he stop until reaching the last door on the hallway, pounding his fist three times in quick succession.
The door swung open a moment later, and a wave of air fragrant with sugar and cinnamon surrounded him. Cass rolled the sleeves of her dress up her arms, exposing more of her dark brown skin. She grinned and wiped her hands on her apron. “Ben, what did I do to deserve a visit from you?”
“Is Abby home?” he grunted, glancing over her shoulder.
Cass chuckled. “It’s nice to see you, too. She’s in the kitchen.”
Her eyes widened when she noticed the person standing by his side, and Ben looked back toward the Englishwoman.
Miss Waverly lifted her chin and drew yet another card from the ridiculous bag and handed it to Cass. “Miss Rose Waverly to see Miss Abigail Waverly. Would you let her know I am here? And I would love a cup of tea.”
Cass’s eyebrows shot up and Ben would have laughed, a rarity for him on any day, were he not also affronted. “Who is—”
“Abby!” Ben called as he pushed past Cass and left Miss Waverly standing in the hallway. She wouldn’t be staying, so there was no use inviting her in.
Abby emerged from the kitchen, her straw-colored hair furling around the kerchief holding it in place and dress smudged with what must have been flour, dough, and, he hoped, chocolate. “Ben, what’s—” Her eyes widened, and Cass and Ben’s gazes darted between the flustered cook and the lady still standing in the hallway, curling her shoulders in as though contact with her surroundings would sully her. “Rose?” she asked in a whisper. “Is that you?”
Miss Waverly—Rose, apparently—nodded, and a tremulous smile spread on her lips. “I came for a visit, like you asked.” He watched as her gaze scanned the modest apartment, then returned to Abby, who had gripped the door frame with enough force to turn her knuckles white.
When Abby said nothing in return, Cass huffed a humorless laugh and stepped aside, gesturing for Rose to enter. She did, clutching her bag to her chest as though she feared someone would snatch it from her hands before removing her hat. She held it out to Cass and waited; when Cass did nothing, Rose tilted her head, her brows drawing together.
Abby broke from her stupor and swallowed hard. “Rose, how nice to see you.” She took Rose’s arm and pulled her away from the increasingly incensed Cass. Ben noticed the immediate change in Abby’s diction, evidence of her Upper West Side upbringing. “Please, have a seat.”
Rose lowered herself on a spindly chair at the table next to the kitchen, her eyes continuing to take in the space. Ben felt a flash of annoyance at her unspoken judgment; the narrow set of rooms was nothing to be ashamed of. Tall windows let in enough light to flood the sitting room, which only had one worn sofa they had inherited from the previous tenant. A cozy nook where Abby and Cass shared breakfast each morning bled into the kitchen itself. While cramped, the kitchen was Abby’s domain, its iron stove heating the entire apartment from its constant use. He was proud that each of his residents had their own water closet and bath, although the tub was little more than a basin in the kitchen’s corner. The bedroom lay just beyond the bath, and while only one small window overlooked the alley behind the building, it was large enough to hold a bed and solid chest of drawers, one Ben had thrown out his back carrying up the four flights of stairs last spring.
“Why are you here?” Abby’s tone was far from welcoming as she sat across from her cousin, and Rose winced.
“You invited me.” Rose looked toward Cass, who hovered behind Abby with a hand on the back of Abby’s chair.
“I invited you months ago, last year.” Abby dropped her chin. “A lot has changed since then. How did you find me here?”
A surge of protectiveness pushed Ben forward to stand at Cass’s side, another fortification for Abby against the interloper. He withdrew his coin again and rubbed the textured edge along his palm.
