Page 23 of Give Me Strength

He stands there, framed by the doorway, looking effortlessly casual yet undeniably attractive. The few strands of gray in his dark brown hair catch the light, adding a distinguished touch. It should be criminal for anyone to look this good in gray slacks and a crisp white T-shirt. The simple attire accentuates the natural grace of his movements and the effortless confidence he carries with him.

His eyes, a mesmerizing mix of blue with hints of gray, lock onto mine with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe, a stormy sea threatening to pull me under.

It does nothing to ease the nervous fluttering in my stomach.

“You made it,” he says, his voice a rich, soothing timbre that sends shivers down my spine.

He steps aside to let us in, and I can’t help but notice how his gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary.

Why? Is he worried I’ll fall apart?

Is everyone?

Oh well. It’s always going to be like this. I might as well get used to it.

“Thank you for having us,” I manage, my voice sounding much steadier than I feel.

As I step over the threshold, a fresh wave of nostalgia washes over me. The foyer is almost exactly as I remember it — the same polished oak floors, the same ornate mirror reflecting a slightly older version of the girl who used to twirl in front of it. I can almost hear Mom’s laughter and see Rachel’s proud smile. The memories are a comforting balm and a sharp sting all at once.

My heart is racing, and my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions — attraction, longing, and a sharp pang of guilt — all crashing together in a chaotic symphony. As Aunt Bonnie and I follow him inside, I steal glances at him, each sending another wave of desire crashing over me.

His fair skin, dusted with light freckles across his nose and cheeks, gives him a boyish charm that softens his otherwise serious demeanor, making him seem more human, more touchable.

More unattainable.

Gilbert turns to me, a warm smile laying on his lips. “Please, make yourselves at home. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Thanks,” I manage to say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the turmoil inside me.

I try to focus on anything else — the décor, the scent of something delicious wafting from the kitchen — anything but the man who makes my heart race. It’s all futile because my thoughts and eyes keep circling back to him.

And he’s right there, larger than life and damn near impossible to ignore.

“I’ll just check on dinner.” He flashes a quick smile at Aunt Bonnie before disappearing into the kitchen. That smile, brief as it was, leaves me breathless and unsettled. Aunt Bonnie follows and starts a polite conversation with him, allowing me a few moments alone.

My brain tells me to follow them, but my feet carry me in a different direction. I wander up the stairs and down the hallway to the guest sleeping quarters, my fingers trailing along the wallpaper, tracing the familiar patterns. My old bedroom door is closed, a silent sentinel guarding the remnants of my childhood.

It’s been so long.

What will I find on the other side of this door?

Pushing the door open, I step inside. The room is a time capsule. The pale blue walls, the ballet posters, the shelves filled with trophies and ribbons — it’s all there, untouched. My old music box sits on the dresser, and I wind it up, letting the delicate melody fill the air. I close my eyes, and for a moment, I’m nine years old again, dancing without a care in the world.

But the memories aren’t all sweet. I turn to the corner where Rachel used to sit, listening in as Mom read me bedtime stories. The emptiness there now feels like a void in my chest.

Can I really live here again, surrounded by ghosts of the past?

I head back downstairs, the weight of my thoughts pressing heavily on me. The dining room is set beautifully, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind. Gilbert and Aunt Bonnie are already seated, deep in conversation. He looks up as I enter, his stormy blue-gray eyes just as intense as I remember, filled with a depth that seems to pierce through everything and everyone.

Including me.

“Ashlynn,” he says gently, “I know this must be difficult for you, so take your time to decide. Your old room is ready if you choose to stay. Although, we will need to update it.”

I nod, unable to find the words. As I sit down, the aroma of home-cooked food fills the air, mingling with the bittersweet scent of memories.

This house holds so much of my past, but can it be a part of my future?

10

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