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He couldn’t help smiling. The long sleeves of his shirt hid her hands, and the pants fit snugly on her hips but pooled at her feet. She was adorable, and he couldn’t help laughing. Somehow, she pulled it off well. “I won’t be trying your clothes on any time soon, so you’ll never have to find out. Let’s head over to the house and start unpacking.”
She bit her lip. “How’s your foot?”
He threw the ice to the side. “Fine. I’ve already done the hard work.”
She sighed and ran a hand through her wet hair. “I guess stalling forever won’t help. Yeah, let’s go.”
He studied her. Even though she’d put on a brave face, she wasn’t ready to face everything.
“Let’s go,” he said with a bright voice. Maybe the changes he’d made would cheer her up.
As casually as he could, he draped an arm around her shoulders on the way to the truck, but she wasn’t fooled and flicked it off in seconds. With some disappointment, he decided it was time to stop with any advances. If she pushed him away completely, he’d never get a chance to tell her how he felt.
After the short drive to her house, they started the process of moving things into the front room. Her happy mood changed, and sadness etched lines into her face.
When she started toward her bedroom with a box, Dean decided it was time. “Hey, before you start moving your things upstairs, I want to show you something I’ve been working on.”
Curiosity twinkled in her eyes, and she placed the box back on the floor. Dean smiled and headed for the kitchen where the basement door was.
Stepping in front of it, she said, “I don’t want to go through my mom’s stuff yet. It’s been years since I’ve been down there, and I’m still not ready.”
Dean nodded. “It’s a good thing I cleaned the place out.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What?”
As she glared at him, he rubbed the back of his neck. “If you hate it, I’ll undo it. I’ll unpack the boxes and throw everything back where it was.” After a pause, he wondered if he could actually do that. “At least I’ll try.”
Emilie pursed her lips together and headed for the basement. She grabbed the knob, turned it, and swung the door wide open. Then she gasped.
9
Emilie
Dean had completely transformed the basement. Instead of a single light bulb hanging from a chain, he flicked a switch on the wall and a small chandelier lit up. The lights were tiny and beautiful, and instead of rafters full of cobwebs and other critters Emilie didn’t want to think about, there was a white ceiling. The unforgiving hardwood steps that were too steep for any normal person had been replaced with carpeted, normal-sized stairs, and two white banisters led to the bottom of the staircase.
Her throat tightened as she met Dean’s eyes. “What? Why?” She didn’t finish either of her thoughts. Instead, she ran down the steps and didn’t stop until she hit the bottom. She spun around, hiding her face with one hand.
“The old bumper pool table—” She pointed to where it had been. In its place, in the corner of the room, was a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a closet.
Dean took a seat on the bottom step and massaged his ankle. “That thing was warped and falling apart.”
“And right there”—she pointed past the stairs—“is where Dad set up his woodworking bench.” Instead of a wall of tools and a large table saw, Dean had made a sitting area, complete with a couch, an end table, and a TV stand.
The other side of the room was missing its usual wall of boxes, and there was a small room with a door. “What’s—”
“It’s a full bathroom.” Dean answered her unasked question. “This space is huge now that I’ve cleared everything out, and hopefully it’s as bright as you could want. I wanted you to have a place in your house which had no connections to your past.”
The effort he’d put into remodeling was no joke. She dropped her hand. “You did this for me?”
A tentative smile cleared the worry lines that creased his forehead. “It wasn’t just me. Sammy and the boys helped, a plumber owed me a favor, and the electrical guy who worked on your dance studio volunteered some of his time.”
Emilie opened her mouth and then closed it again. Her heart melted at the thought of him moving boxes, installing carpet, and putting her room together. Every time she turned around, Dean surprised her. It would be extra hard to sell the house.
A thought struck her. “Where are Mom’s journals and books?”
Dean stood and led her under the stairs. A new closet had been installed. He opened it and revealed a small room filled to the top with boxes. He gave her a sheepish grin. “Just in case you wanted to ever go through them. Other than the obvious junk, I kept everything.”
Emilie hugged him tightly. “I can’t believe you did this.” Her voice broke as she thought of the many hours he must have spent slaving over the fine details.
