Page 58 of Fragile Sanctuary

Anson was quiet. The silence swirled around us like a living, breathing thing.

Finally, I forced myself to look at him. I expected disgust or maybe judgment; instead, I found understanding in those blue-gray eyes.

“Sometimes, the only way to stay alive and breathing is topretend it never happened. Over time, you can let it in, piece by piece, but if you do it all at once, you could drown in the grief.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what he’d lost. Who. But I didn’t want to ruin the gift Anson was giving me right now. Understanding. The feeling of not being alone.

I’d spent the last fourteen years surrounded by people. The Colsons’ home was never quiet. People were always everywhere. But a small part of me still felt alone. As if no one really understood what I’d been through.

But the pain swirling in Anson’s eyes told me he understood. The fact that I could spill the thing I was most ashamed of, and he got it? That was one of the greatest gifts I’d ever received.

I took a sip of beer, trying to clear the lump in my throat. “I still feel pretty guilty about it.” That and the fact that the last few moments I’d shared with Emilia had been spent fighting about a stupid shirt.

Anson studied me for a long moment. “Is that what the house is? Atonement?”

I took a minute to really think about his question. To be honest with myself, even if I didn’t like the answer. Finally, I shook my head. “It’s my search for peace.”

That was the real truth. Restoring the Victorian was me trying to finally put my family to rest, but at the same time, carry them with me. It was trying to truly have a home.

Anson nodded slowly. “There’s no greater gift than peace.”

His words were simple, but they carried weight. Because they were spoken by a man who clearly hadn’t found it yet—not for any length of time anyway.

I picked at my tortilla, trying to get up the courage to ask my next question. “Do you get that peace anywhere?”

Anson stilled, his taco halfway to his mouth, his eyes cutting to me. “Sometimes. Working on a house, losing myself in the physicality of it all. Or for a few minutes in the quiet at the cabin. There’s something about Sparrow Falls. It helps.”

Every word he spoke felt like a treasure. Because I knew he didn’t give this sort of thing to just anyone. Probably not even Shep.

“That’s good. Hold on to those things,” I whispered.

Anson grunted in what I thought was agreement and set to eating his dinner. I took that as a sign that chatting time was over. We ate in silence, but the comfort was still there. Both in having Anson here and knowing it was good for him to have the company, too. I couldn’t imagine how lonely it was to live your life so cut off from others. And getting these true glimpses of him…it killed that he lived his life that way.

When we finished eating, Anson immediately set to cleaning up.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

He cut me off with a shake of his head. “You cooked. I clean.”

His tone was so gruff I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “It was a team effort, so why don’t we clean together?”

Anson arched a brow at me. “I grated cheese.”

“It still counts,” I argued.

A soft whine sounded from the threshold of the kitchen. Biscuit looked up at me with pleading eyes.

“Oh, all right.” I plucked a piece of leftover chicken from my plate. “Sit,” I commanded.

Biscuit plunked his butt on the floor, and I tossed him the chicken. He caught it on the fly and dashed to his bed.

When I turned around, Anson was shaking his head. “You’re gonna spoil that dog.”

“He deserves a little spoiling,” I defended.

Anson muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t quite make out.

“Just hand me those plates,” I groused.

---