Page 19 of The House on Forgotten Hill

As we ate, our conversation drifted to everyday topics: music, travel, and the changes the neighborhood had undergone over the years. When we were about finished, I said, “What do you do for a living?”

He moved his plate to the side, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I live for a living.”

“You don’t have a job?”

“I’ve never needed one. My father saw to that.”

“Are you saying you’ve never worked a day in your life?”

“Not unless you count surviving boarding school.”

I laughed. “Boarding school doesn’t count.”

“Then no.”

“What do you do with your time?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I travel the world. Italy. France. Scotland. Argentina. It helps keep life from getting too mundane.”

“What do you do when you’re not traveling?”

He gave the question some thought. “I golf.”

“Are you any good?”

“I’d say I’m better than most. I also ski, read, and collect wine. And on occasion ...” He lifted his glass. “I have dinner with a gorgeous woman like you. What about you? What do you do?”

“At the moment, I’ve been focusing on renovating the house. My mother passed away not long ago, and she left me enough money that I don’t need to rush back to work.”

“You’re taking some time for yourself. Time to heal. That’s good.”

“I think I owe myself the chance to slow down. My mother was sick for a long time, and I set everything else aside to take care of her. Now, I guess I’m trying to figure out what comes next.”

“I can relate.”

I raised a brow. “Somehow I don’t think our situations are the same. I can’t imagine you’ve ever had to worry about how your bills are going to be paid.”

“I suppose you’re right. There’s something I’ve been wondering. Of all the houses you could have bought, why that one?”

“When I walked through it, I thought it had charm and potential. It felt …” I searched for the right word. “Comfortable.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but in all the years I’ve lived here, never once have I looked at your house and thought there was anything appealing about it.”

“I guess it just spoke to me.”

“And what did it say?”

“I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.”

He pressed a hand to his lips, trying to suppress a laugh. “I like that answer.”

“I thought you might.”

“You know, many years ago, there was a man who seemed rather fond of staring out that upstairs window.”

My pulse skipped as I tried to steady my nerves. “Oh?”

“The fellow who lived there used to stand at the same window, looking through binoculars, just like you’ve been doing.”