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He’d never please these people. Especially if they ever found about his books. He smirked to himself and wondered what a prim old lady like Aggie Braithwaite would think of what he wrote.
When most of them had dispersed, he sought out Maddie. It was only three in the afternoon and he didn’t much fancy being on his own. Perhaps it wasn’t in the best taste to talk about what they were going to do with his father’s house, but he needed it fixed up and gone as soon as possible.
“How are you?” she asked and if it had been anyone else asking, he’d have wanted to punch them. How many more times would he have to say he was fine?
But Maddie didn’t make him feel like punching anyone. Her hazel eyes seemed to do something to his heart and turn it into mush.
“I’m fine, Maddie. I promise. Don’t worry about me.”
“I can’t help it.”
That admission turned his entire body to mush. She’d always been kind and caring—the nurturing type. He suspected it was why he’d fallen for her in the first place as a kid. She had been what he was missing from life. But he didn’t need looking after anymore. He just needed her.
“I was hoping we might get the time to discuss the plans for the house.”
“Oh, of course. I did have some information put together but what with being sick...”
He nodded. He wouldn’t mention his suspicions that maybe she’d also been spending time with another man. If he did, he couldn’t guarantee the same hot jealousy wouldn’t spike through him and make him say something stupid. Before he’d stopped by to collect some books about the history of the house and others similar to it—the very books he’d forgotten when he’d found her all sick and vulnerable that night—he’d also walked past the bookshop and seen a guy handing her flowers.
Perhaps he should give her flowers?
No, flowers wouldn’t do it. Jewellery? Maybe not. With the exception of some diamond studs in her ear, she didn’t wear jewellery. She never had done and he didn’t think that had changed.
“Do you have time now?” he asked, cringing inwardly at how eager he sounded.
“Sure. That is, if you’re sure you want to...”
“I’m sure.”
“Great, why don’t we head over to the old house now? I can show you better than I can tell you.”
He considered the state of the house and how little progress he’d made on clearing it out. And then he looked at Maddie, her eyes wide with excitement at the idea of going into the house that for some reason she had attached herself to.
“Yes, why not?”
The pub was within walking distance of the old house. They crossed the bridge and Maddie commented on how well the funeral went and continued to chatter about the various locals. Instead of finding himself annoyed, he actually couldn’t help being amused. She paid attention to everything that was going on and genuinely cared about the people of the town.
“And, of course, Mr Wright refused to move the boundary fence,” she continued as he tried to force himself to listen and not just steal glances at her in that black dress. “You should have seen them, Sawyer, shaking their walking sticks at one another. I shouldn’t laugh but it was the funniest thing I’d seen all week.”
He chuckled with her and drew his key out of his trouser pocket. He paused on the doorstep before putting the key in the lock. “Be warned. It’s a mess.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind mess.”
She was lying. Maddie liked things orderly and neat. Oh well. He pressed open the door and ushered her into the main room. Stacks of old magazines—reallyold magazines—cluttered the space and it smelled of stale alcohol and cigars. Most of the furniture would need to be thrown away.
Sawyer shook his head at the state of the place. It had even shocked him when he’d first stepped foot in it. A seventies style couch dominated the sitting area and a mahogany bookcase, dining table and writing desk managed to make the space look small. Everything was damaged by damp or mould or cigar burns.
Sawyer huffed out a breath. He doubted anyone in the town knew how much his father had neglected this house.
“Goodness...”
“Beginning to regret offering to help now, aren’t you?”
She turned to face him, her dark waves whirling around her face. One strand of hair stuck to her lip and she plucked it away. He curled his hand and regretted that he hadn’t done it first.
“Not at all. I can’t wait to get started. First we’ll have to clear everything out. Once that’s done, I’ve got the names and numbers of some great builders. It won’t take long to get it sorted hopefully.”
We’llclear everything out. She could have no idea how much that appealed to him. His aunt had been great. She was the sort of crazy aunt that everyone hoped for. She never minded that this grumpy, heartbroken eighteen-year-old had turned up on her doorstep, hoping for a place to live. But Aunt Mae was still as batty as ever and not at all reliable. He’d done everything on his own—always.
