Page 58 of Townshipped
“It’s quite a tie.”
She wags her eyebrows once. I could miss the movement. But I don’t. Then she rolls onto her back, scoots up and draws her knees in toward her chest, pulling the covers with her. Her movement causes Granger to stand up and resettle onto the pillow next to her.
I watch them for a few moments longer like a small child peering in the confectioner’s window before the shop opens, mouth watering for all that sweetness.
“Okay. Well, my phone number is at the top of the list. I’ll be home before dinner.”
“You already said that,” she teases.
“Just making sure you know.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got books to choose from, and Granger to keep me company, and the goats, Lily the llama … and apparently the entire town of Bordeaux at my beck and call. Is there anything you need me to do while you’re gone?”
“No. But thanks.”
Our eyes linger on one another. Em gazes at me through her lashes. A coy smile plays across her lips. I would bet good money she’s thinking about our kiss. It’s written on her face. It doesn’t matter if she is because I’m thinking about it enough for the both of us.
I’d like nothing more than to go to her, pull her into my arms and kiss her goodbye, but I can’t. Not until we know more. Not until I’m sure she’s unattached and available. Then I’ll see if she’s even interested in staying here in town, or if what we have is only a pit stop on her way back to a life she loved and can’t wait to return to living.
20
“EM”
The truck engine roars to life, followed by the crunch of gravel as Aiden drives away. It’s the first time since I arrived that I’ll be completely alone. Granger’s tongue lolls out of his mouth and his eyes look up at me with a combination of contentment and apprehension.
“Don’t worry, sweet boy. I’m not about to kick you out. I want you here.”
I push the covers off and pivot until my feet hit the rug next to the bed. The cooler air tempts me to curl up with the dog again, but I don’t want to spend this day resting. I’ve had my fill of downtime.
Aiden may have said he doesn’t need me to do anything, but there are always things to be done around a farm. I’ll do what I can to earn my keep and show him my unspoken gratitude.
After letting Granger out, feeding him and then having my coffee, a small breakfast, and a shower, I decide to gather laundry. I walk upstairs with the dog on my heels.
Aiden’s bedroom is the last one along the hall in the upper corner of the home. It’s obviously the original master. When I reach Aiden’s door, I push it open cautiously. A bedroom says everything about a person and I’m curious what new details I’ll learn about the man of this house.
Standing at the threshold, I peer in. Burgundy wood wainscoting covers the bottom two-thirds of the wall, topped by dark green paint. Light from the windows on each outer wall fills the room.
Aiden’s cherrywood sleigh bed, stained to match the wainscoting, is the focal point in the room. He angled it in the far corner, flanked with two side tables. He makes his bed. Something about that knowledge feels intimate and makes me question crossing the doorway to enter the room.
“I’m here to get laundry,” I tell Granger, who obviously doesn’t share any of my hesitations. He’s doing his own snooping, sniffing around the edges of the room and furniture.
A chest of drawers sits on one wall and a matching desk is positioned under one of the windows. Everything has a place and seems to be thoughtfully put where it belongs.
Some books sit in a stack on Aiden’s nightstand. I walk over, careful to note the exact positioning before I pick the top one up. The edges are yellowed, and the dark green hardback binding is worn. The gold embossed title takes me by surprise:The Complete Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson.
I sigh audibly. Another layer of Aiden. Each one draws me nearer, making him more irresistible, filling me with twin emotions of hope and uneasiness. I’m like a woman crossing a creek, stepping from stone to stone, the one I’m on wobbles, threatening to dump me into an icy torrent. The few ahead seem equally uncertain.
I glance at the book under Emerson’s poems. It’s a parenting book about helping children heal from trauma. Why would Aiden be reading a parenting manual? And why that particular one?
Granger nudges my leg and stares up at me with his soft brown eyes. His touch snaps me to my senses. I right the books and head toward Aiden’s closet where I find his filled laundry basket.
I stop in his adjoining bath to gather towels. It’s less tidy than the bedroom. Hair product and cologne sit on the counter where he left them less than an hour ago. His wet toothbrush extends over the sink so the head can dry. A moist washcloth lies wadded next to his sink. I glance in his mirror and imagine us standing here getting ready for a day together.
Collecting the washcloth and towels and throwing them into the laundry basket, I turn. I should leave this room and get out of his private area of the house, but curiosity stops me.
Granger trots ahead of me. I pause to lift Aiden’s cologne and uncap it. Closing my eyes, I pull an inhale of a scent that alludes to him but doesn’t completely capture his essence.
Okay, I’ve crossed the line into full-blown creepy, infatuated houseguest. I carefully return the bottle cap and then place the cologne back on the counter. Grabbing the basket, I call to Granger.
