Page 14 of A Crane Family New Year

A visual of a search party with a pack of baying hounds popped into his mind, making him laugh again. She was clever in addition to being beautiful. And those plush, red lips were looking more kissable by the moment.

“I’m from Maryland originally,” she said as they took the stairs arm in arm. “My parents and my brother still live there. I go home as much as I can, which doesn’t amount to much. But Isa is generous with vacation time, so it’s more than if I worked anywhere else.” She pressed her lips together before asking him a question. “What about you? Are you close to your parents?”

“My mother lives in France. We see each other a few times a year—holidays and such. My dad has a serious case of wanderlust, so our visits are spontaneous. Although we’ve seen each other more often since Emily…”

He hadn’t planned on bringing up his late wife, but here they were. Now that he’d blurted out her name he might as well explain. “Emily is my wife. Was my wife. She died last year, in February.”

“I’m so sorry.” Chloe stopped short on the stairs—two steps from the bottom. Sincerity swam in her hazel eyes when she asked, “How long were you married?”

“Five years. She was sick for eight months, which sort of fucked up that last year.” He shook his head the moment he heard the note of bitterness. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Navigating that sort of heartbreak and breathing in and out must have taken everything you had.”

He stared at her for a moment, humbled. His siblings and his father had gathered around him after Emily’s death. He’d had an outpouring of help and casseroles and unsolicited advice from family and friends alike. He couldn’t have survived without his father and brothers, who had taken it upon themselves to ensure that his career didn’t go down the drain. Jaylyn had handled the daunting but necessary task of clearing out Emily’s closet and art studio. His mother had been there to facilitate the household, to make sure he was eating, and that the lights had stayed on.

Then after a few weeks, they’d returned to their lives—at Zander’s insistence. Even Brody, who’d moved to London, had gone back to his rented flat. The months that followed had been challenging. Chloe was right, it had been difficult for him to breathe in and out once everyone returned to their normally scheduled lives.

“It’s been a process. She was sick for a long time,” he said dismissively, not wanting to rope Chloe into a deeper discussion than she’d intended.

She ignored his detour attempts. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No. It doesn’t.” He pulled in a breath. “We had London. And after she’d gone, London no longer appealed.”

Chloe squeezed his fingers, her hands warmer than they were earlier. “You moved back home to Chicago. Windy, cold?—”

“Beautiful.” Like the photos of Chicago hanging on the wall downstairs, and like the woman holding his hand now.

“I’m sorry your wife passed away.” She averted her gaze momentarily before meeting his eyes again. “I guess I don’t know what else to say.”

“Not many do.” He’d heard it all. Sorry for your loss. How are you holding up. Let me know if there is anything you need. The problem was that no one could bring Emily back—not with all the empty, well-meaning platitudes in the world.

“Shall we?” He gestured.

She nodded.

They walked down the remaining stairs. She dropped his hand.

“Let’s see what we’ve stumbled into.” He felt for a light switch, flipped it on, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Chloe’s sharp shriek pierced the air.

Chloe, hand on her heart, closed her eyes and caught her breath. “That scared me.”

“Me too,” Zander admitted. “But only half as much as your scream. Are you all right?”

When she opened her eyes, she could read two things on his handsome face: concern and amusement.

“I didn’t expect to see that.” She approached the giant metal suit of armor standing sentry at the foot of the stairs. At its back was a thick wooden column, and in its closed fists was a battle axe.

What in the Medieval Archives?

“If you would have bet me a thousand dollars that there was a literal knight in shining armor at the entrance to this room, I would have gone double or nothing.” She peered up at the dented armor in wonder, studying the various mars and dings in the metal. A shiver climbed her spine as she considered that there had once been living human beings who’d worn suits like these—possibly this one in particular.

“It really is something,” Zander said as he looked with her.

She took her first good look around the room. Merina and Reese’s modern style had been blended with medieval pieces, including a tapestry hanging on a wall of stacked stones. There was an ornate bar to the left, with richly colored wood and rows of gleaming glassware. The backless stools were red leather with metal studs at the edges.

“This room is very distinct.” Zander smoothed his hand over a leather seat.

“I’m sure the decor is Merina’s doing. She’s the more eclectic of the two.”

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