"One more thing," I said, mentally crossing my fingers for luck. "I have a request."
Griffen's green eyes brightened with surprise. "Really? Lay it on me."
"I want to get a kitten. For Sterling. But also for us to share."
I saw immediately that Griffen didn't need any further explanation. He remembered. I hadn't been sure if he would. It had been so many years ago.
Not long after my mother died, Sterling had found a kitten. I have no clue how a kitten had found its way onto Heartstone Manor's grounds, but this one had. Tiny, its grey fur patchy and its eyes barely open, the kitten had stumbled into Sterling's arms one afternoon and it had been love at first sight for both of them.
We'd tried to conceal the kitten from the adults, but Miss Martha had eventually discovered what Sterling was hiding in her bedroom. Once she knew, she was in on the game, but it hadn't been long before our father had discovered what we were up to. Once he did, in vintage Prentice fashion, he'd taken the kitten from Sterling and given it to me.
The only thing Prentice Sawyer liked less than disobedient children was children who were bonded to each other, against him. Taking the kitten she loved from Sterling and giving it to me might have worked to divide us, but as much as I'd loved that kitten, I'd loved my sisters more. Especially Sterling.
I'd taken the kitten and kept it in my room, but every night I snuck out and brought it to Sterling for love and cuddles. Then, one day, the kitten was gone. We never found out what had happened to it. Sterling, barely eight years old, had been inconsolable.
"Dad was a monster," I said, remembering holding her slight body as she'd sobbed.
"He really was," Griffen agreed. "First she lost her mother, then Darcy, and he couldn't even let her keep one tiny kitten." He let out a sigh that I guessed was part melancholy at the memory and part despair at the thought of being overrun with pets once the kids got wind there was a kitten in the house. Griffen shrugged in resignation. "Good thing I like animals."
"I thought I'd take Sterling to the shelter if that's okay. We could share the kitten to start, keep it in one of our rooms most of the time. This house is way too big to let a kitten wander freely. At least until it gets used to the place."
"Exactly what I was going to suggest." He opened his drawer, rifled around, and pulled out a credit card, sliding it across the desk toward me. "It's the house card. Put any kitten-related expenses on this. And stop at that office supply store next to the pet store and grab anything you need to keep organized for the renovations. I think Sterling gets off at two today. If you leave now, you can swing by Quinn's place and pick her up."
I stood, more excited than I'd been in a very long time. My traitorous mind flashed to Nash, that sheet pooled at his waist, his long muscled form. Okay, the most excited I'd been in relation to things that did not have to do with Nash.
Stop thinking about Nash, I ordered my rebellious brain.
Considering that I'd never see him again, a kitten and some office supplies were probably as much excitement as I was going to get for a long time. I wasn't going to complain.
Nash aside, a kitten and some office supplies sounded pretty damn good. I headed to town to get Sterling, a smile already curving my lips at the prospect of surprising her with a kitten.
ChapterThirteen
PARKER
From across the room, my phone chimed with a text. I glanced over my shoulder, then down at my hands, submerged in a bucket of dirty water that reeked of something that was supposed to be lemons, according to the picture on the bottle. Somewhere under the acrid stench of chemicals there might have been a hint of lemon. The stuff smelled awful, but it was amazing at cutting through years of grime and dust. I'd get to the phone in a few minutes. As soon as I was finished scrubbing this section of tile.
Yes, I, Parker Sawyer, was scrubbing tile. I'd never admit to a single soul that I hadn't done this before. Or that I'd spent some time on the internet figuring out how one went about cleaning. Tile, wood, brass, and stainless steel. The cottage had it all.
Lucky for me, for Griffen, and for our budget, both the cottage and the gatehouse were in better than decent shape. The electrical needed work, and we needed new fixtures in the bathrooms, updated appliances and counters in the kitchens, but otherwise, what they really needed was elbow grease. Enter me and my currently submerged hands.
I pulled my scrub brush from the bucket and went back to work. The cottage had a cramped bathroom off the kitchen, beside an equally tiny bedroom, and a more spacious full bath on the second level, attached to the main bedroom. Every room in the cottage was designed in the same style; Dark oak-paneled wainscotting along the lower half of the walls and creamy white walls above, with dark beams cutting across the ceilings.
Only the bathrooms were different, both done in floor-to-ceiling vintage white subway tile. Though the tile hadn't been vintage when it was installed. When the tiles were clean they'd be gorgeous. At the moment, not so much.
I'd finished one wall, the smallest, and the sight of the gleaming, bright tiles sent bubbles of happiness through my heart. I told myself I was being silly. I'd started with the narrowest wall. It was just tile. The warmth inside me said it wasn't silly at all.
It was the first thing I'd done in a long time that felt good. Like I was making the world around me better. Maybe earning my own place in it. I hadn't known that mattered to me. Apparently, it did.
I wasn't sure I wanted to scrub tiles for the rest of my life, but for now, it felt great. Flexing my hand around the brush, I took in my red knuckles and shrugged. I felt great, except for my hands. I needed to get some gloves. I had to remember to ask Savannah.
I liked imagining her and Nicky moving in, once we had the place livable. They could make a home here. When Savannah had taken the job managing Heartstone Manor, she and Nicky moved into her mother's former rooms off the kitchen. Griffen had taken one look and deemed them too dark and cramped for a mother and young child, no matter that Miss Martha and Savannah had lived in them when Savannah was growing up. At the time, the cottage had housed the head groundskeeper, and the gatehouse had stood empty.
Griffen hadn't bothered trying to unravel our father's reasoning on that one. A mother and child needed more room than the crusty old groundskeeper, but that probably hadn't occurred to Prentice. It didn't matter now. As soon as Billy Bob and I had this place in shape, Savannah and I could go through the attics looking for furniture to fill it. Whatever we couldn't find, we'd buy.
Savannah could take the main bedroom upstairs, with its tall windows and elegant dark beams. The bed and bath on the first floor were small, but Nicky could make them his own, and while the room wasn't spacious, it was more than big enough for a young boy. And when he outgrew it? We'd figure that out later. For now, Savannah and Nicky needed a home.
I wanted to give something back to Savannah, to repay her for everything she was giving to us. Heartstone Manor felt like a home for the first time I could remember. Even when my mother had been alive, Prentice cast a dark shadow over the house. His temper, his impatience. His constant manipulations.
