Page 26 of Stone
“I’m not going to turn to alcohol to help me sleep, but I’ll turn to it because it’s delicious. Do you have any red wine?”
“I do, a tempranillo from northwest of here.”
“Perfect,” she called back.
An hour, two glasses of wine each, and three-quarters of a pizza later, he led Juliana on a tour of his house. Starting with the ground floor, he walked her through the dining room, living room, sitting room (which he’d tastefully turned into a media room), and parlor (which he considered the family room). Then grabbing her bag, he led her up the front stairwell—rather than the former servant’s staircase, which led from the kitchen up to the attic—where she admired the intricately carved wood as they climbed the steps.
“Your room,” he said, opening the door to the furnished guest room. None of the pieces were period-appropriate, but finding the right things would take time.
“There’s a closet and a bathroom through there,” he said, pointing to two doors on the far side of the room. Originally, there’d been five bedrooms and three large closets on the floor—closets that he guessed were used to hold the elaborate gowns of the women who’d lived there. Over the first year, he’d reconfigured the walls, staying as true as he could to the originaldesign. Now there were four bedrooms, each with a smaller closet and an attached bathroom.
“There’s a shower in the bathroom, but no bathtub. If you want to take a bath, I have a big claw-foot.” The idea of her naked in his bathroom hung between them. His body stirred, and he turned away, walking from the frying pan into the fire.
“I’ll show you my room?—”
“And the tower?”
He smiled, although she couldn’t see. “And the tower. Then we can hit the hay. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but I’m thinking it could be a long one.” As he spoke, he swung the door to his room open and stepped through. Positioned along the southeast side of the house, he had beautiful views of the sunrise from his bed through a bank of large windows. On the far side from where they stood was a door to his walk-in closet and one to the bathroom. To their right, the door to the tower.
It didn’t surprise him when she skipped the bathroom and closet and went straight to the tower. He watched the sway of her jean-clad hips as she crossed the room. Intentionally, he hung back, wanting to give her a moment to absorb the space. He also liked the view.
Gently, she pushed the door open, then let her hand fall. For several seconds, she simply stood in the doorway. She’d loved everything else about his house, but the longer she said nothing, the more tension crept into his body.
“Juliana?” he finally managed to ask. He didn’t want to admit, not even to himself, to the nerves tightening his stomach as he waited for her response.
“This is rather alarming, Simon,” she said, almost in a whisper.
He frowned. “What is?” he asked, striding toward her.
“That,” she answered, waving in the direction of the room. He scanned the space. It looked just as he’d left it. It might notbe the tidiest he’d ever had it—two sets of plans lay spread across the drafting table, several boxes of materials and samples sat on the floor, and a chair had fallen over under the weight of his tool belt—but it wasn’talarming.
“It could use a clean?—”
“No, the bookshelves, Simon.”
He glanced up, scanning the bare wood shelves that followed the curve of the wall, breaking only for the windows. “What’s wrong with them?”
She spun. “They’reempty! How am I supposed to learn anything about your character without looking at your bookshelf?”
His lips twitched. “I think you have a pretty good idea of my character. Or you’re starting to.”
Her brows dropped. “Yes, of course. But the nuances, Simon! They’re all in the books. Now there are no books and…I’m adrift. I don’t know what to do. How do you stand it? Being surrounded by absolutely gorgeous shelves and havingnothing on them.” She pivoted back to face the room. “I really don’t know what to think about this. I don’t know if I can sleep in a room beside a man who has nothing on his bookshelves. Isn’t that, like, one of those red flags women always talk about? And if they don’t, they should.”
He ran a hand over his mouth, biting back his smile. Not that she could see him still staring at hisemptybookshelves. He reached out and took hold of her hand. She looked at him over her shoulder.
“Come with me,” he said.
She eyed him with dramatic skepticism that he wasn’t entirely sure was feigned. Ten seconds passed before she nodded. Twining his fingers with hers, he led her back out to the hallway, then toward one of the unfurnished rooms. Without a word, he turned the knob, and the door swung open.
In the dim light of the hall, the outlines of stacked boxes appeared like haphazard building blocks. Reaching over, he found the switch and flipped it on. “Books,” he said with a flourish. “I need to refinish the shelves in the tower, so for now, my books are all in here.”
She stared, her eyes sweeping over the eight boxes. He didn’t have a ton, he wasn’t going to cram his shelves, but he had a healthy collection. He’d even read most of them, although a few he’d bought because he liked the handmade bindings.
“You have restored my faith,” she said on an exhale.
“In me or something else?” he teased.
She turned, her blue eyes bright. Then to his surprise, she flung herself into his arms. He immediately pulled her close as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck.
