Page 19 of Falling for the Grumpy Stranger

Ella’s laugh was the kind that you could listen to forever. “So, are you working up that patience and enthusiasm?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I think I am.”

She sipped her milk and then licked the frothy white off her top lip, a gesture that held my attention far too long. “What changed your mind?”

“Not sure,” I said, but I knew exactly why. Our gazes locked over our glasses of milk. It stunned me how quickly this petite, cheery, positive force of a woman had become a friend. We were so comfortable talking together as if we’d known each other for years. I felt like I could be myself around her, and that was not easy for me because, somehow, I’d managed to lose all contact with that person—the real me. It would be easy to blame the success and the business taking off for wiping out my old self, but I realized, now, it was the people I’d surrounded myself with.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve worked up the enthusiasm. Although, I’m sure the patience part will be tried over and over again when you have contractors and workers trudging back and forth through the house. Still, I think this old house deserves a second chance. Its reputation has kept it from being loved by the proper owner. A facelift will make the manor smile again.” She picked up her glass of milk for a toast. “Here’s to lifting the curse for good.”

We clinked glasses and took swigs of milk.

Ella’s fine brown brows furrowed for a second as she looked at me. “When I first brought up the curse—you told me you were already cursed.”

“Did I? I guess I did. It’s a long story.”

“One that goes with the scar?” She motioned toward my left hand. I’d pushed my sleeves back some when I warmed up cutting wood. A good four inches of the scar was showing. It had changed my skin so much; I barely recognized it as my arm anymore.

“Yeah, one that goes with the scar.” I smiled up at her. “You really are a journalist, aren’t you?”

She covered her face with her hand. “Nonna used to call me ‘nosy posy.’ I’m sorry. Let’s erase the last minute and go back to—to—” She bunched her brows again. “What were we talking about? Oh yes, getting rid of the curse and letting this magnificent old house shine again. It’s going to cost a pretty penny, isn’t it?” she asked with some hesitation.

“It’s not going to be cheap. You took the journal home. Any more revelations aboutMags?”

“Didn’t have much time. Once I got home, I took a long, hot shower.” She rolled her lips in, coyly.

“I’m sorry about that. I saw the chin tremble as you were leaving. Tomorrow, I’ll have a fire roaring in that room. Looking forward to testing out my skills at fire building. Back to my caveman roots and all that.”

“And I promise to spend at least half my work time packing those boxes. It was part of the deal, after all.”

“That was just me being a grump. You don’t need to pack up anything, Ella. Just spend the time doing research. You might want to start looking at those bookshelves though. Maybe you’ll find another journal or ledgers, something that will give you more details about Margaret’s death.”

Ella’s entire tiny body shook with excitement. “Can’t wait to dig in tomorrow. And I’m equally excited about that fire, so you better drum up all those caveman instincts, ‘cuz I’m expecting to be as toasty as a marshmallow between chocolate and graham crackers tomorrow.”

“Oh, wow, you just conjured up another great childhood memory. S’mores. Loved those little marshmallow sandwiches.”

“Yep. They’re a classic.”

Chapter Fifteen

ELLA

Iwas so anxious about getting back to the library at the manor I woke up before the sun. Naturally I had no plans of showing up at Rhett’s door at the crack of dawn, so I pulled my fuzzy robe over my flannel pajamas, tugged on some thick socks and tiptoed out to the front room with Margaret’s journal hugged to my chest.

Isla was just pulling two beautiful loaves of bread out of the oven. She already had a tray of brownies and cookies cooling on the kitchen counter. I startled her as she turned around. “El, I didn’t hear you walk in.”

I pointed to my plush socks. “Like wearing cat paws.” I glanced at the cookies. “Peanut butter?”

“Go ahead,” she said with an eye roll.

I picked up a cookie and walked out to the sofa. Our ancient heating system had been working overtime lately trying to keep the house warm. As much as any of us hated to admit it, the cottage needed to be renovated. The older it got, the harder it was to stay warm in winter. I pulled a wool throw over my head and burrowed into its layer of warmth as I opened the journal. The leather binding creaked like an old door on a haunted house. And there was still the faintest smell of ink coming offthe old pages, as if the century-old scent had been locked inside the closed journal all this time, waiting to escape along with Margaret’s deepest thoughts and feelings.

“Back to the old journal, eh?” Isla’s voice caused me to pop out from my blanket cave. She set a cup of steaming coffee on the end table next to the couch.

“Yes. It’s very interesting. All we ever heard about Margaret Grimstone was that she was a wealthy spinster who built a manor on top of the hillside, and she died as a result of some kind of accident. But there were so many layers to the woman. Do you know she once participated in a sailboat race around the tip of Africa? Her team won the trophy. She was quite the adventurer, too. Ava would get a kick out of reading this journal. She talks about wading through swamps that were riddled with snakes and hiking across frozen tundra to see massive glaciers.”

“Wow, you’re right. What a shame that the only thing ever mentioned about the woman was that she died too young.”

“And my editor wants me to focus on that death. None of the brilliant life she led. Only on her dying.”

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