Page 13 of Falling for the Grumpy Stranger

“Then I’d really have a great story to write.”

Layla pulled on her coat. “I’m off to my day of drudgery behind the counter, where I have to answer Molly Kelson’s million questions about which diarrhea medicine works the best and Ralph Vonn’s questions about which toe fungal cream is the most effective. Such is the glamorous life of Layla Lovely.” She grabbed her scarf and walked out.

I finished my muffin and walked to the bedroom to get ready for my big day.

The clouds had stayed. The gray skies made the old house look less inviting. As I climbed the steps I wondered if Rhett had had time to think about his offer enough to decide he’d made a mistake. I knocked and in the long minute it took him to open the door, I’d convinced myself this wasn’t going to happen.

The door opened. Rhett was wearing a gray button-down shirt with the top button open. Something told me he’d look spectacular in a three-piece suit. I’d been somewhat wowed by the tall, handsome man in the doorway and hadn’t immediately noticed the bump on his forehead.

I pointed up at my own head. “Ouch. Please tell me that doesn’t have anything to do with me and my request.”

“I’ve discovered that I’m too tall for my attic.”

I peered up at him. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Back and forth about a dozen times. Come on in.” I hung my coat and scarf on the hooks by the door and followed him through the entryway. The glass lamp had only two working bulbs, and the rest of the house was also seriously lacking light. We walked down a hall with art deco-style sconces, brass and geometrically shaped beauties, but like with the light in the entry, only two had working bulbs. We passed an attic hatch door that was propped open. A rope hung down from the hatch.

We stopped under it and both stared up. I hadn’t really considered the possibility that I’d be sitting in a dark, dusty, spidery attic to look for information about Margaret’s life. I supposed that was expected in journalism—danger, intrigue and spiders. There were definitely spiders in that attic.

“Should have borrowed my neighbor’s beekeeper suit,” I said. “I’m not a big fan of things with multiple legs. In particular, things with eight legs.”

“Then you’re lucky I did some of the dirty work for you,” Rhett said. “It took some serious brain digging back to high school physics, but I managed to lower two large trunks.” He stared up at the square hole in the ceiling. “Not even sure how I got them through the opening, but they’re sitting in the library waiting for you to dig in. I glanced through some of the other junk up there, and it was just that—junk. Old clothes and shoes.”

My eyes widened with excitement.

“Before you start imagining taffeta Victorian dresses and lace-up boots, the clothes and shoes are more circa 2000. The trunks were the only things of interest, unless you’re interested in cobwebs and scurrying noises. Plenty of those up there.”

I shivered. “I think I’m good on those things, thanks. And thanks for lowering the trunks down.” I looked up through the hole. “That must have been some feat.”

“Let’s just say there was plenty of colorful language coming out of this mouth. Follow me to the library. By the way, the library shelves are still filled, too. Old books, dusty old books that probably haven’t been opened or looked at in years. I bought some boxes, so?—”

“I fully intend to keep my end of the bargain and box everything up for you. Especially since you went through the trouble of getting the trunks down.”

“I can help with the books. I might want to keep some.”

We walked down a narrow corridor with peeling floral wallpaper. I sneezed twice.

“Bless you, and yes, you’ll probably be doing a lot of sneezing this morning. I think every speck of dust in Whisper Cove somehow managed to make it up the hill, drift into the house and settle in every corner.” We stepped into a room that had large windows. Like the rest of the windows in the house, they were crusted in years of dirt and allowed in little of the cloud-muted outside light. To add to the gloomy, dark feel of the room,the walls had been covered in wood paneling. Some were faded to a golden brown and others were nearly black as if water or smoke had damaged them. Library shelves took up three walls, and about half were filled with books. A massive desk with carved lion feet sat in the center of the room on a faded rug.

An impressive marble fireplace took up half of the remaining wall. “I’m waiting for the chimneys to be inspected, so I can start fires. There’s a heating system, a last century one and definitely not big enough to heat the whole house. Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine. I live in a cottage by the beach that’s so drafty that sometimes things blow around the front room as if a gale force wind was going through the house.”

“Sounds like quite the adventure. So, you’re right on the coast?” he asked.

“Less than thirty steps from the sand.”

“Nice.”

The two large trunks he’d lowered from the attic sat in front of the desk. One was a traveling trunk, or steamer trunk as they called them, complete with leather straps, iron hardware and patches showing where the trunks had been. The second trunk was the one that immediately caught my interest. It was a cedar chest with a rounded top. A large heart, flanked on each side by cherubs, was carved into the side, the initials “MG” in the center.

“Oh, my gosh.” The words came out on a stunned breath.

“I don’t know much about these things, but I thought that might be Margaret’s hope chest. I think that’s what they called them,” Rhett said.

I looked at him. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Wait to see what’s in it first. It might just be a bunch of moth-eaten fuzz. There’s a lock on the chest, but I can unscrew the latch. I just need to get a screwdriver.” He left the room.

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