Page 98 of The Treasure House

I heard a car turn the corner to the street and flew to the window, peering out. It was Jake’s pickup. My heart pounding, I backed away from the window and turned off the light. I went into the parlor—to pretend like I’d been diligently sorting junk and not spying on his house all evening.

Distantly, I heard Hazel’s high bark.

Music, I thought nervously. I should put music on, so I’d look extra casual. I didn’t want him to feel any pressure. Or me to feel any pressure. I fetched our little portable speaker and threw on a relaxing playlist. I considered the parlor fireplace. I hadn’t used it yet—should I bother? No. If he turned up, he wouldn’t want to sit in here while I sorted his mother’s junk.

His mother’s junk. The realizations kept coming like aftershocks. I looked around the parlor. All those bags of pop beads and Happy Meal toys and all the other stuff had been hers. I looked around with fresh eyes. He’d spent his summer days in this room with its porthole windows and its egg-shaped chandelier. How weird must it be for him to come here now that I lived here?

Very weird, I assumed. And maybe quite painful.

I relived every time he’d been in the house, all the way back to that first day when he’d given us a tour. Him talking about the missing lampshades in the hall, the floorboards under the linoleum, the need for a heat pump. His stressed, pinched look, which I’d mistaken for grumpiness. The way he’d clutched the banister on the landing, looking like he wanted to run away. All those attempts to convince me I didn’t want to take this place on…

What must he have been feeling?

I heard the crunch of boots on the street outside and Hazel’s soft woof of excitement. I bit my lip, every muscle tensed as I strained to hear his footsteps. He was coming up the front steps instead of around the back. Why? Didn’t he feel comfortable here with me anymore, now that I knew?

There was a gentle knock on the door.

I tried to act relaxed and walk casually, but really I sped to the door. I opened it, my heart skipping like I was a little kid and it was Christmas.

God, he looked good. He was in a thick cable-knit sweater and a beanie. His jaw was stubbled, which only made him look better. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, Hazel sitting at his feet, looking up at him with her adoring eyes.

“Hey,” he said nervously, not quite able to meet my gaze.

“Hey.” My breath plumed in front of me.

“I got your flowers.” He risked a look at me.

I tried to radiate gladness to see him. “Thank you for dinner last night,” I said lightly. “I wondered if I might repay the favor?” I saw him bite the inside of his lip. “No questions,” I promised. “No talk of anything at all if you want. We can mime.”

His dimple dented. “Mime, huh?”

“Yeah.” I held the door wider.

He looked down at Hazel. “Uh, the cats?” He fidgeted. “I really can’t leave her alone. And I don’t like to leave her in the yard at night, it’s so cold.”

“She can come in, can’t you, Hazel?” I stepped back into the hall. “I’ll run the kittens up to Flo’s room. They’re okay up there, it’s not too cold.”

“Should we wait here till you get them up?” he asked.

The relief washed through me that he was staying.

“Um, here or the parlor? It’s got to be at least a little warmer in there.”

Gingerly he stepped over the threshold, Hazel trotting alongside, her tongue lolling. He took her into the parlor. I watched for his reaction to the room, trying to read every micro-expression. Stop it, I hissed at myself. I’d make him uncomfortable if I kept watching him like that.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, dashing Mac and the Cheeses upstairs in their basket. I also ran up some kibble and water and freshened their litter tray, then washed my hands in the bathroom, spritzed on some perfume, and slicked on some lip gloss.

When I got back down, Jake was standing in the middle of the room. “You’re making headway,” he said gruffly. “You’ll have this room ready to use by Christmas.”

“I hope so,” I laughed, “because Suni and Wayne and the whole family are descending on me for the holidays. I have to set up some furniture. And buy a blow-up mattress or two.”

“There are some folding cots in that other outbuilding if you want extra beds,” he said. Then he bit his lip.

“No talking,” I promised, holding up my hands. “Are you hungry? I’ve still only got the countertop oven so it’s just a casserole. But it’s hot.”

I led him and Hazel out to the kitchen. She flopped in front of the fire, panting happily at being included. With only the cracking of the fire and the soft music curling through the house from the parlor to break the silence, we sat opposite each other, eating dinner and stealing looks at one another. Afterward, I made hot chocolate, and we turned our chairs to sit in front of the fire, watching the flames dance. Eventually, he reached out and took my hand in his, tracing my fingers.

“I haven’t experienced quiet like this in years,” I whispered. “Flo talks a mile a minute.”