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She dreamed of the mansion again. Its windows glowed faintly in the dark, and a figure stood in one, watching the sea.
In the late afternoon the next day, Amy went to the mansion to check on a few things and walk through the status of the renovations, hoping to get her head back where it needed to be. Instead of the peaceful hum she used to feel in those rooms, there was only stillness… and underneath, a faint pulse.
She stood in the grand foyer, watching dust drift through the long blades of light. Once, this place had steadied her, had felt like it knew her. Now it was distant. Aloof.
She closed her notebook, forcing herself to let the thought go. Maybe it wasn’t the house that had changed; maybe it was her, as Kelsey had suggested.
By the time she locked up and crossed the garden back toward her cottage, the sky was dimming, a watercolor wash of rose and lavender over the bay. The scent of salt and wild roses carried on the air. Ollie raced ahead, tail wagging, carefree in a way she envied.
Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter as she walked in.
Sully: Hey, can you talk?
Her pulse skipped, and she kicked herself for reacting that way. She wiped her hands on a towel and typed back:
Sure, call at will.
A moment later, her phone rang.
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual.
“Hey yourself.” His voice held that easy warmth she was becoming used to from him when they weren’t client and contractor. “Listen, my nieces head back to my sister’s tomorrow afternoon, and I was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner Sunday night. Somewhere civilized.”
She smiled before she could stop herself. “Are there civilized places left around here this time of year?” They were at the beginning of the busy—and thankfully short—tourist season.
“I might know one or two.”
His tone carried a quiet self-assurance that tugged at her, a comfort and a challenge both.
“That sounds nice,” she said. “Text me the time.”
“This is a real date,” he added. “I’ll come by and pick you up about five thirty. I made reservations for six.”
Amy smiled to herself at this, blushing deeply.
They spoke for another few minutes—small talk about his nieces, the weather, and a few light jokes about his activities with the girls. Apparently, they had talked him into letting them bake a cake. It hadn’t turned out half bad. After they hung up, the silence of the cottage expanded around her.
Amy set down the phone, resting her hands on the countertop. Her reflection flickered faintly in the window above the sink; behind her, the last strands of sunset faded to deep blue.
Was he as eager for tomorrow as she was?
She didn’t want to over-analyze their conversation or the quiet rhythm that had developed between them. She wanted this, wanted him, to be a normal, grounding presence in her life. Something entirely outside the mansion’s strange gravity.
“Normal life,” she told herself, flicking off the kitchen light.
Tomorrow would be dinner by the water—conversation, laughter. No shadows. No renovations. No talk of budgets.
Just time between two people who had found an attraction to each other, simple and real.
If she could remember how to live simple and real again.
Chapter 22
By late afternoon, the cottage smelled faintly of roses and the coastal air that drifted through the open window. Amy stood before the mirror, smoothing the skirt of the dress she hadn’t worn in ages—a soft sea-green thing that made her feel put together, almost like herself again.
She’d chosen the dress because it felt deliberately impractical. After weeks of work jeans and paint-splattered T-shirts, she needed to remember what it felt like to look beautiful without apology.
A light dusting of powder, a brush of lip tint. She dabbed her wrist with perfume, hesitated over the bangle bracelets, then set them aside. She wanted Sully to look at her, not remember an irritation about someone he’d once been married to.
