This could be his mother’s room. The flowers could be some sort of tribute to her. He rarely spoke of his mother, but when he did there was such reverence ...
CJ shouldn’t be in here.
She wheeled around, put one foot forward, and halted.
Edward stood in the doorway.
“I’m sorry.” She glanced around the room. “It’s a beautiful room, but I shouldn’t have come in here uninvited. I am so, so sorry.”
He stared at her. Just stared. The tiny healing wound from the bump on the head he’d gotten in the fire reminded her he’d almost lost his life helping her.
She swallowed. The chocolate suddenly tasted bitter in her mouth. She shouldn’t have spied on him like this. “Is everything okay?” Like her, he had no family left. That he still paid such tribute to his mother was likely a very private matter to him. He wouldn’t want CJ intruding like this.
“I’m glad you like it.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He no longer wore the black tee and jeans. He’d changed into his usual gray trousers and a crisp white shirt.
She nodded. Looked around again. “And the flowers are gorgeous.”
“They came from my garden.”
“Wow.”
He stepped into the room, surveying it himself as if for the first time. “I hoped you would like all the little touches. I took great pains in selecting each one.”
She gripped the bowl of ice cream, nodded. She could not recall a time when she’d ever been this embarrassed or felt this awkward in his presence.
“Seeing you here,” he said, “completes the room. Makes everything perfect.”
She tried to force her lips into a smile, but what he said made no sense. “Thank you.” Okay, it wasn’t the right thing to say, but it seemed like what he expected.
“I’ve waited a very long time, CJ.”
He came closer as he spoke.
Now she didn’t know what to say. This felt wrong.
“I’ve watched you since you were just a girl. Waited. No matter the stumbling blocks thrown in our path, I never gave up.”
Now she was seriously worried. He wasn’t himself. The things he said were out of character. Maybe that knock on his head had shaken him more than either of them realized.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Edward?” She tried to think how to explain her worry, but no words came.
“As you can see, there’s no reason for you to be sad about having lost everything when the house burned,” he went on as if she’d said nothing. “I had already taken the things you cherished the most for safekeeping.”
As if his words had provided the necessary coordinates, she turned to the shelves that lined one wall, zeroed in on the framed photographs there.
The bowl in her hand hit the floor and bounced quietly on the carpet, sending chocolate drops splattering over her feet and the carpet.
She was moving toward the shelves, her movements on automatic pilot. She picked up first one, then another. Her and Shelley as kids. Teenagers. Even the one recent photo they had taken last Christmas.
“How ...?” She turned to Edward, the precious photo in her hand. “I don’t understand.”
“I knew you would want those near you.”
But ... how would he think she needed themhere? And when had he taken them? The house had burned yesterday—day before yesterday.
“The house was falling apart. You no longer needed that burden.”
“You ...” He couldn’t have set the fire—they were both inside. He wouldn’t have taken that risk ... would he?
