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Stealing her breath again.
It took a few seconds for her to recover. Though that was basically another lie. She’d never recover from the lust this man incited.
She set her glass on the mantle and said in her Scout-inspired provocative tone, “Why don’t I show you the new sets? The old ones were stored in a room next to the Chem lab at the high school and when a kid accidently knocked over a few bottles that weren’t meant to be mixed together and were much too close to a lit Bunsen burner, it ignited a fire. Everyone got out and no one was hurt… But the oil-painted sets went up in flames.”
“I didn’t know this.”
She smiled. “Then you clearly don’t look at your sponsorship newsletter and statements, because you’re a top-tier donor and the yearly amount almost doubled for the replacements.”
“Babe,” he said as he leaned in close. Smelling so damn good. “I was only kidding last night when I’d asked if I’d remembered to donate. I’ve instructed my accountant to cover whatever bill comes in from the Pilgrim Society. You could charge me ten times more than every other sponsor and the invoice’ll still get paid.”
Her heart swelled. And it honestly had nothing to do with his financial status or generosity. It was all about the man himself.
She said, “Come see your investment.”
Ciara took him by the hand. They wove their way through the crowd, then the maze of corridors in the house. Out one of the back doors and onto a walkway that had been cleared of snow. Scout i
mmediately slipped out of his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
“You really shouldn’t be out here dressed like that,” he lightly scolded.
“Trust me, I’m plenty warm when you’re around.”
Scout chuckled, catching onto her meaning. He wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her slowly along the cobblestones so she didn’t slip. They traveled toward the back of the property. Scout drew up short and stared at the ginormous building tucked into the woods.
“What. The. Hell?” His eyes widened.
“I know. Crazy, right?” She laughed softly. “See, after the fire, the society ladies wigged and worried about losing their sets and scenes and props and blah, blah, blah, so Tilda had this outbuilding constructed to house everything. Paid for the whole thing herself. Those huge doors are actually on tracks that are warmed twenty-four-seven during the winter to keep the snow and ice from accumulating, and the inside is temperature-controlled year-round.”
She and Scout pulled open the mammoth double doors that slid along smoothly. They stepped inside and she flipped a switch, the overhead lights glaring bright.
“Holy Moses!” he declared.
In addition to everything else she’d mentioned previously, the bow of the recreated Mayflower was inside, along with a monstrous foam boulder with the word PLYMOUTH stamped on it.
“I, uh… Huh.” Scout’s gaze on the boulder narrowed. “Don’t get it.”
She glanced over at him.
He said, “Original telling of the landing at Plymouth. No rock.”
Ciara clutched his upper arm affectionately and squeezed it tight. “How awesome that you know that, Scout Winchester. You are absolutely correct, and I adore you even more for it.”
He crooked a brow at her.
Her enthusiasm didn’t wane. She’d been raised on pilgrim lore, after all.
She said, “William Bradford never mentioned a rock in his journals, nor did it come up in other initial tellings of the landing in Plymouth—no one ever said they’d actually landed on a rock. It wasn’t until 1715 that there was suddenly ‘a great rock’ described. And it was about one-hundred-and-twenty years after the pilgrims arrived in Massachusetts in 1620 that there was written documentation of this supposed rock. So… The great debate ensues. Was there or wasn’t there an actual Plymouth Rock?”
“Your society ladies are divided?”
“Yes. Some donors, too. It’s made for interesting interactions. I swear there is nothing dull and tedious about Thanksgiving in Plymouth Rock these days!”
“I don’t find anything dull and boring in Plymouth Rock when you’re here.” He grinned at her. The heart-stopping one.
“You’re such a flirt.”
“Only with you.”
