Page 188 of Ewan

He stops, his jaw tense, his eyes emptied of emotions.

“This house was part of my family estate, and I inherited it when my parents died.”

Breathlessly, I’m waiting for him to continue.

“Have you ever considered living in it?”

I sound dead serious, but there’s a warm note of humor in it.

“I have my stuff in it,” he says.

“Have you and your…?”

He moves his eyes to me.

“She didn’t live in it.”

“I see.”

I pull back, not willing to continue.

His eyes linger on me.

“Honestly, I didn’t know what to do with it. It belonged to my family for over a century…” he says quietly before moving his stare at the monstrosity in front of us.

I’m sure it could look different with a couple of Christmas trees, some lampposts, and light strings dangling from the eaves and stretching across the window sills.

Lit rooms would probably make it look alive.

I don’t know how it looks inside, but something tells me it doesn’t have a warm, cozy interior.

It would help if he had fireplaces and modern furniture. Freshly painted walls and no clutter.

I hate clutter, but it’s not my place.

I’m only a guest.

“And I kept it. It kind of fits my mood,” he says with a dark smile. “I didn’t mind it. And no one had asked to come visit me for sure,” he adds with dark humor.

“Thank God for that.”

I roll my eyes.

He laughs.

“I’m sure you’ll survive spending the night here with me,” he comments in a lighter tone.

“Of course I will. I hope there are no ghosts.”

“No ghosts. They packed their things and left.”

In a better mood, we climb out of his truck.

He grabs a couple of grocery bags while I carry the cake we bought from the bakery.

The snow crunches under our boots, and our breaths look like billowing white steam.

“It’s cold,” I say, walking next to him.

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