Windswept Way (Hope Harbor #9)(50)
Author: Irene Hannon
The light from the carriage house was swallowed up by the fog as they approached the cottage. “I’m giving it more thought.”
“Makes sense. Any big step should be carefully considered.”
His pensive tone suggested he was talking about more than a piano concert.
When they reached her small porch, Jon reclaimed his arm and moved back.
“Thank you for the escort.” She motioned toward the fog. “Will you be able to navigate in this pea soup?”
“I’m used to walking the route to my house. Sleep well.”
With that, he pivoted and disappeared into the mist.
Rose didn’t linger outside. Even after years of living on the coast, the combination of fog and darkness was unsettling. Maybe because her mother had perished on a night much like this one after wandering too close to the perilous precipice on the perimeter of the estate.
Truly, it wasn’t safe for anyone to be out and about on such a night.
But Jon had been confident about finding his way back to his house, if not to God. Or perhaps even Ashley.
As she closed and locked the door behind her, Rose flipped on a light.
Much better. In the cheery, cozy cottage she now called home, the disorienting fog felt far away.
But the decision about the open house loomed, chasing away thoughts of slumber despite her later-than-usual bedtime.
A cup of tea and a visit with Lucy Lynn should help clear her mind, though.
After taking off her sweater, she ambled through the living room toward the kitchen, straightening the poster she’d recently hung that bore the words she read every day.
Never look back.
Wise advice. Yesterday couldn’t be changed. Today was almost over. But tomorrow?
That held promise—and possibilities.
Thanks to Ashley.
Lips curving up, she opened a cabinet and selected a bag of soothing chamomile tea.
From the day that young woman had appeared with her energizing vision for Edgecliff, life had become much more interesting. In fact, it had expanded to include more of everything. More people. More activity. More excitement.
And both she and Lucy Lynn had benefitted from it, even if the path ahead wasn’t as predictable or clear-cut as it had once been.
She filled a mug with water, added the bag, and slid it into the microwave.
One thing for certain.
The seed Ashley had planted about playing at the open house hadn’t fallen on fallow ground. It had taken root and was sprouting leaves.
Whether it would continue to grow and flourish remained to be seen. By morning, it was possible it would wither and die.
Yet as she waited for her tea to brew, Rose knew deep in her soul that wasn’t going to happen. Unless a severe case of cold feet undermined her courage, she was going to take a giant leap of faith and play at the open house.
And hope her bold decision didn’t come back to haunt her far more than any imagined ghost at Edgecliff ever had.
18
Jon was avoiding her.
Shading her eyes, Ashley scanned the workers scrambling to get the gazebo and grounds ready for the open house that was a mere forty-eight hours away.
Her landscaper was nowhere to be seen.
As usual.
And who could blame him for his disappearing act, after the impulsive almost-kiss last Saturday? The one that had kept her awake far too late for the past five nights.
Even now, days later, thinking about the magnetic-like force that had drawn them together sent her pulse skyrocketing.
The music . . . the fog . . . the feel of otherworldliness in the mist-shrouded landscape . . . all of those had joined forces to transport them to another dimension for those few brief seconds.
There was no discounting a healthy dose of hormones in the mix either.
Whatever the factors that had sent them spiraling toward a kiss, the combination had been potent.
She sighed.
No wonder Jon had delegated Kyle to run interference for him on the job ever since. He must be as embarrassed by the near miss as she was.
And who knew where it would have led if Rose hadn’t interrupted?
A delicious shiver rippled through her, and she clamped her lips together.
That was inappropriate. She wasn’t in the market for romance. Not after Jason’s betrayal. Nor did she have time for dating and all its attendant demands. She was already juggling too many plates.
There had been one positive outcome from that evening, though.
Rose had agreed to play the piano.
Unfortunately, the week had gone downhill from there with a string of crises, from delayed delivery of bathroom fixtures in the women’s powder room to a scramble to book an emergency housecleaning session to deal with the drywall dust that had left a fine white film on everything.
At least those issues had been resolved.
But while the subcontractor Jon’s firm had hired to lay the gravel for the parking lot had done the prep earlier in the week, no rock had yet been put down—and someone needed to get on that ASAP. With the possibility of rain in the forecast for Saturday, a finished lot was essential. Traipsing through mud to get to the front door would not make a favorable first impression on her guests or generate bookings.
Kyle appeared in the distance, phone to his ear, and as he walked toward the round garden in the center of the circle drive, Ashley waved to catch his attention.
He acknowledged her summons but continued to gesture as he spoke to whoever was on the other end of the line, his body language communicating agitation.
Uh-oh.
Another glitch in her inaugural event would bump the blender in her stomach from pulse to purée.
As Kyle’s conversation dragged on, a truck turned in at the entrance that had been excavated from its Sleeping Beauty tangle of brush, vines, and thorns.
Jon.
Her heart stuttered, and she scuttled back into the shadows of the porch, out of sight.
Which was ridiculous.
She was thirty-two years old, for pity’s sake, not sixteen. So she and Jon had almost kissed. So what? They were both adults. They’d both been in other relationships. All they had to do was attribute the lapse to the ethereal ambiance that night and move on.