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I stared at the flute in my hands. The gesture had been kind. It had been thoughtful. But it was also too much. “Duncan, thank you, but I can’t keep this.”
Moments later, he was on his feet again. “It’s a gift, Rosabel. A show of my appreciation. A show of admiration. Please, keep it. Take it with you.”
Everything inside of me crumbled. I placed the flute on the bed by its case and went to him. Surprising myself, I took his hand.
He pulled it from my grasp. Not roughly or defensively. Just definitively.
He turned his back to me and gazed so hard out the window I could tell he was too absorbed with his own thoughts to take in any of the view. I circled to face him. Slowly, his eyes drifted to meet mine.
The glance lasted only seconds before he cleared his throat and looked back to the lake.
I wasn’t sure what came over me—or over my hands, really, because they lifted and placed themselves on his cheeks.
Duncan’s eyes closed, but he didn’t pull away this time. His soft breath brushed my skin. A shadow grew quickly after being shaved earlier. His skin was slightly scratchy beneath my palms.
“Look at me,” I said.
“Now, who’s being bossy?”
“Please?”
His lids lifted, and he looked right at me. The force of wariness, of dejection in his eyes shot right through the center of me.
I never—never—would have imagined Duncan Hawthorne looking so injured.
“I don’t know how to read you,” I said. “You’re different.”
“I thought you wanted me to be different.”
“I did. I wanted to see this; I wanted you to change, and it seems like you have, and I don’t know what to make of that.”
My hands lowered to his shoulders. “I’ve had moments with you these past few days, moments of pure thoughtfulness. You opened up to me. You tried to buy your grandma a freaking house. You got me a trolley pass—Duncan, I didn’t even know I’d need one!”
He tried to glance away, but I directed his face back to mine, and I returned my hands to his cheeks without knowing why. A connection wove between us, as though this conversation opened a gate I’d lost the key to.
Duncan lifted a hand and placed it on my wrist, keeping his attention right on me.
This was curative. I suspected I wasn’t the only one who needed its healing.
“Mostly, though, you helped my father. That means so much to me.”
I lowered my hands and gazed up at him.
“And all of this?” I gestured to the room behind me. “The drinks in the fridge? The flute? Clive told me about the book room. When were you going to tell me?”
“I wanted you to find it on your own,” he said. “I can take you there now, if you want. Do you want to see it?”
He grimaced and stepped back again, delving his phone from his pocket. “On second thought, never mind.”
“Never mind? You mean you don’t want to show me?”
“No—that’s not it. It’s just—as lovely as your music is, that wasn’t the only reason I came up here. I wanted to let you know: I have the plane all ready for you.” He flashed his phone at me. “Just say the word, and my pilot will be ready to take you home. Just be sure to take the flute with you when you go. So you have something to remember me by.”
Well, that sounded way too final. Did he think we’d never see one another again?
My heart swelled in my chest. “I’m not going home.”
His eyes flicked to mine.
