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She saw him hesitate. He must have known whatever he said wouldn’t make her feel better, but he would try.
“Then maybe let it breathe,” he said. “Storms come and pass. We’ll ride this one out too.”
She met his eyes, disbelief warring with the faint pull of hope he always seemed to resurrect in her. “You sure?”
Without another word, Sully took her in his arms, holding her tightly against his large chest. She felt like a child being swallowed up in his bulk.
Sully had cooked.
His cabin smelled of sautéed garlic and rich, slow-cooked stew—real food, not the kind of takeout he usually survived on. A half-empty bottle of wine breathed on the counter, and Ollie lay sprawled near the stove like he had been living there all his life, chin balanced on his paws, waiting for Sully to drop something.
Amy sat by the window in her work clothes. She was slumped in her chair, staring at the empty wineglass.
“I kidnapped the dog,” Sully said lightly, as he placed a cast-iron skillet on a trivet. “Figured it saves you the drive home to let him out.”
That earned him a ghost of a smile. “You’re diabolical,” she mumbled. Her voice carried exhaustion and gratitude in equal measure.
“Practical,” he said, uncorking the second bottle to let it breathe.
Sully poured them both another glass and sat opposite her. He’d seen the headlines scroll across a dozen phone screens that day from his crew—Murder Mansion Returns—and hated seeing it hurt her.
He slid a plate toward her: tender beef, fresh vegetables, buttermilk biscuits with crispy edges. “Eat. It helps against catastrophes.”
“That’s a myth.”
“Then humor me.”
For a few quiet minutes, they ate. The sound of rain on the windows and Ollie’s pacing underfoot settled the air. It would have stayed peaceful if Amy hadn’t suddenly set her fork down.
“I can’t pretend it’s fine, Sully,” she said. “It’s a mess. I’m a mess.”
He leaned back. “Bad day—you’ll get through it.”
“Easy for you to say.” Her laugh had an edge. “I can’t even pay your last invoice, Sully.” Her voice splintered on it. “I can’t pay you for finishing the mansion, and I can’t launch the retreat. What am I supposed to do? Hand you a coupon for a massage and call it even?”
He frowned. “That’s not how this works.”
“Exactly,” she shot back. “It’s how failure works. No ‘wellness center,’ no grand opening—just me, a massage therapist with a ridiculous dream who sunk her life savings into an even more ridiculous house.” She gestured, angry tears flashing. “You think you fell for the owner of a mansion and a wellness retreat? Wait until that veneer wears off. See how long you like being with a homeless failure.”
That landed like a nail driven sideways. Sully’s jaw clenched. “You finished?”
She blinked, taken aback by the quiet force of it.
“Because if you’re done slapping yourself around, I’d like to say something.”
Amy bristled but said nothing.
“This isn’t a costume we’ve been wearing,” he said, rising with his hands braced on the table. “You think I give a damn what job title you’ve got printed on a business card? You think a little change of fortune scares me?” He took a few quick steps closer, his voice rougher now. “When I got dragged into working on that house, I thought it was just another job. I stayed with it because of you, even though you pissed me off just about every other day. Because you believed in that place harder than anyone had a right to. You made me look at the mess and see what it could be again. That’s real to me, Amy. Not this,”—he waved his phone, the network’s video glaring across his knuckles—“not headlines, or playacting at success. We aren’t kids dressing up for Halloween and pretending to be grown-ups with a mansion on a haunted hill. This”—he set his palm flat over his chest—“isn’t pretend. Not for me.”
Heat flushed through his face, equal parts fury and truth. For a long moment he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe the words had come from his own lips.
Amy pushed back her chair slowly. He expected more tears, maybe an argument.
Instead, she laughed—a short, incredulous sound that turned into a wide, shining grin.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded.
“You.” She was already moving for her phone. “Halloween,” she repeated, excitement cutting through the residue of tears. “You just handed me the answer.”
