Page 54

When I do unwind myself, he goes back to researching and I go for a walk on the grounds. The late-summer sun shines brightly over the grass as I meander with no path in mind. I stop at the rustic, wooden fence that separates Ben’s property from the neighbors and lean against it. Rolling hills of grass and trees keep me from seeing the home next door.

I pull the paper Ben gave me with the date of Quint’s marriage, expecting somehow for the name to change from Catherine Pratt to Clara Granville. But it doesn’t. The ink from the printer won’t even smudge. A breeze tugs at it, trying to pull it from my hands, but I grip harder.

That’s what I am doing, holding on to the idea of Quint—maybe because love at first sight, destiny, whatever, is such a romantic notion. Maybe it’s because Ben’s theory is right, and while in 1928 the possibility of me spending my life with him had been more probable, and that in some way that made me love him, crazy as it sounds.

I think of Ben and all the things he’s done for me since we met at The Villa in 1901. If it hadn’t been for him, I might be on the street somewhere, thrown out from the prestigious hotel because of my supposed profession. I would’ve been lost, confused, and hopeless. Ben had thrown around his money for me for whatever would help me or make me happy, and he didn’t do it to buy my love. He throws around his money whenever he thinks it might help someone he cares about. He’s kind and generous, and somehow he still cares for me. He deserves more than a woman with half her heart in the past.

My thoughts turn the idea that Ben is logical for me. We could share everything, if he’d let himself. Nothing but my stubbornness about Quint keeps us from being together—not nearly seventy years and generations apart.

I release the paper and let the breeze take it away. I swallow emotion as I watch it go, closing my eyes, although that only brings an image of Quint and his honey-brown eyes and the way they looked at me with comfort and familiarity. How he could fill me with more hope than I’ve had since before my parents died. I can’t explain those feelings, and it’s better if I let them go.

“It was so lovely, Quint,” I say to the breeze. Then I turn and walk back to the house to get back to work.

Are you ever coming home from your vacation with your sugar daddy? Morgan texts after dinner.

I snort with laughter. He is NOT my sugar daddy.

“He’d like to be,” Ben murmurs from where he sits next to me. I chuckle and shake my head at him.

You two are on vacation together. A vacation your rich boyfriend is paying for. Morgan follows her text with a thinking emoji and then a laughing one. I don’t correct her on the boyfriend term this time, even though our relationship is more complicated than ever. It wouldn’t make sense for me to be on vacation with a guy who’s my friend and also something more.

Ugh. I can’t even make it sound right in my head.

We’re working.

*Snort.* A moment later, a second message comes. Does he have a brother? She follows this with a gif of someone wiggling their eyebrows.

I have to think to remember if Ben does have a brother. It seems like such a long time ago that I met his family. Yes, but he’s like 14. If you want to wait for him…

Since it’s not family money, I’ll pass.

I smile as I picture the grinning expression Morgan is probably wearing. Your loss!

Ben wanders off sometime during the texting conversation, so I set out in search of him. I find him watching a movie in the theatre room. The house has been leased for most of Ben’s ownership of it, since he never used it between 1901 and the present. In the letter he left for William in 1901, Ben asked him to check in with the caretakers from time to time to keep the money safe for his descendants, especially if William never heard from him again. William kept as careful watch over Ben’s accounts and such as he did over his own. So the firm Ben left the house and his assets in the charge of updated the house when necessary out of the funds that piled up from the income it brought. It’s another example of the family of lawyers Ben used being brilliant in taking care of his money.

The movie screen takes up an entire wall of the room so that it does indeed feel like being in a theatre. Thankfully, though, the room is filled with comfy, overstuffed couches and chairs. Ben sits in a loveseat near the back, so I slide in next to him, drawing his attention away from the movie—an action film, although Ben claims to love historical movies as well, but usually the ones with less romance than I like.

“Hey, how’s Morgan?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair as I settle in.

“Wondering if we’re ever coming home.”

“Maybe we should think about that.” Ben pretends to ponder this before smiling and turning back to the movie. We spend several minutes watching in silence, though I don’t have much interest in it. Not because of the genre, but more because I’ve missed the first part and because my mind still churns over all the things that have happened in the last month.

“I’ve been thinking about the condo. My condo,” I say.

“What about it?” He turns and lifts his hand to finger a strand of my hair, and I let him. It’s easier and easier to fall into how comfortable a relationship with Ben is. My brain keeps reminding me of his behavior when we went back in time—the way he dismissed me, how he didn’t seem to trust me. How he still isn’t opening up to me.

But can I blame him for that? We kind of started something before we went back in time, and then I went and fell for someone else. He has things to answer for, but so do I.

And all of that? It’s easier to dismiss with our mission into the past behind us. Easier for me to believe that next time it won’t be like that. We’ll talk … eventually, and I’ll insist that things be different. Ben is a good guy. We can figure this out.

“You can have the condo back. You love it. I’ll draw up a new lease and move back in with Morgan.” I turn and sit facing him, cross-legged on the couch.

Ben chuckles, resting his elbow onto the back of the couch and leaning closer to me. “It belongs to your family, and it has special meaning to you—definitely more than me—and I can afford to buy anything I want. I’m not taking it from you.” He slides his hand behind my back, pulling me over to cuddle with him.

“Are you sure?” I rest my head on his chest. Somehow he still smells the same as he did in 1901. Did he smuggle some aftershave back with him?

“Absolutely. Maybe someday I’ll find another way to get it back,” he says into my hair, his voice filled with hope and caution.