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“Okay,” I breathe, resting my hand against his chest, where I feel his heart thundering against my palm. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. Just…” He shakes his head. “Just don’t say shit like that.”
“I won’t again,” I promise, and his fingers loosen on my jaw as his eyes scan my face.
Moving my palm from where it’s resting over his heart, I slide my arms around him and press the side of my head against his chest while his hand falls away.
After a moment, he curls me against his chest and rests his chin on top of my head. I close my eyes. It was careless of me to joke about dying, but I had no idea he’d have that strong of a reaction. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Our connection is tangled up with loss, and even if we didn’t know each other prior to experiencing the kind of pain that comes from losing someone you care about, we’ve come to depend on each other. Or at least I know I’ve come to depend on him. If he were to say something similar, I’m not sure how I would react.
Would I feel it like a physical blow?
My heart clenches at the thought, telling me I would.
After a couple of minutes, his lips touch the crown of my head, and he steps back and helps me slide out of my seat. Standing on the sidewalk, I watch him open the back door and unload our luggage.
“Here, you take this one.” He pulls out the handle of his suitcase, which rolls smoothly across the uneven pavement. I take it while he lifts my two bags off the ground since the wheels on both are now almost totally useless.
Walking up to the house, I stop at the front door and press the bell that is far too modern for the exterior.
“Hello,” a woman with a bright smile answers in less than a minute. “Welcome to The Pinc.”
“Thank you.” I smile as she moves back, allowing us to enter. The moment I step over the threshold, I feel like I’ve been teleported back in time. All the elaborate woodwork is deep red, from the window and doorframes to the stairs, which look handcrafted. All of the furniture and decor, from the rugs to the tables, couches, and lamps, are antique and fit the exterior of the house perfectly.
I don’t know where to look because there is so much to see, and I’m so lost in every detail that I miss the check-in process. Really, I’m not sure if there is one. It isn’t until Jacqueline takes us to our room and talks about the house's history and the mansion across the street that I fully focus on her.
I listen with rapt fascination as she tells us this house was a gift for the son of the original owner of the mansion across the street after he got married. During the gold rush era, the Carsons made their money from the redwood timber industry. After the father passed away, the couple who lived here moved across the street to his house and sold this house to two sisters, who later had it seized due to it being Nazi property. It was a boarding house for a few years after that, but it soon fell into disrepair until it was bought and restored. Apparently, it changed hands a few times after that until it became what it is now—a bed-and-breakfast and wedding venue.
When we get to our room, she opens the door, then walks across the small space to flick open the blinds.
“If you need anything at all, I’ll be around, and there are treats and tea downstairs that you’re welcome to any time,” she says, walking back toward the door.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay.” She leaves, shutting the door behind her, and I look around.
The small room is clean and decorated the same as downstairs. Everything seems to be antique, including the bed with its iron head and footboard, white quilt, and colorful throw laid across the end. The only thing out of place is the bistro table set up in a curved alcove in the corner of the room, where the turret must be outside the house. Roman takes the backpack from me, placing it on the end of the bed, and then gets in my space.
“I shouldn’t be gone long.”
“I should come with you.”
“No, it’s raining, and you don’t need to be out in the cold. Stay and read or watch TV.”
“I’m not going to melt in the rain. And this is California. It’s not that cold.”
“Elora, please.”
“Fine,” I give in, wondering if I should.
Eventually, he and I are going to have to untangle the mess of strings that have tied us together, and I’m not sure I’m doing either of us any favors by allowing him to take care of me, which it seems he has set out to do.
After he touches his lips to my forehead, he leans back to look at me. “Plug in your phone so it doesn’t die and call me if you need anything.”
“Sure.” I wrap my arms around my middle, then watch him as he leaves, shutting me in the room alone.
Going to the window, I look down at the street and see him get into my van, and when he drives out of sight, I glance across the street. From here, I can see the mansion that Jacqueline mentioned. It’s the opposite of this house in every single way. The dark green looks almost gray, and all the gingerbread detailing around the windows and doors is painted a similar color, only a touch darker. It’s like in that movie Addams Family Values when Wednesday goes to summer camp and has a roommate, and on her side, it’s all doom and gloom, but her roommate’s side looks like a little girl who loves pink and everything girly got ahold of her parents’ credit card and decorated to her heart’s content.
It makes me curious if both colors are original or if sometime through the changing of hands, they decided to update the paint. When I see Jacqueline, I’ll have to ask her about it.
