Page 15 of Falling for the Grumpy Stranger

Ella sat on the old leather chair in the room. She looked up from the book she was holding on her lap. She was incredibly pretty, but the look of joy on her face made her even more stunning. She hopped up and lifted the book, so I could see the cover. I saw that it wasn’t a book but a journal. The nameMargaret Grimstonewas embossed in the leathery cover.

“I couldn’t have even dreamed up finding this,” she said. “Seriously, I need to go out and buy lotto tickets because the luck gods are all looking over my shoulder today. Margaret Grimstone kept a journal.”

“I see that. Anything interesting?”

“Oh my gosh, where do I start?” She snapped her fingers. “I know where to start,” she said excitedly, then her lips turned down at the corners, and her expression softened. “Poor Mags, I think her betrothed died before he could walk her down the aisle. I haven’t read that for sure yet, but there are all kinds of clues in the chest.” She flipped open the back cover and pulled out an old sepia-toned photo of a young man. His hair was combed to the side and greased down, and he wore a dark suit and held a hat. “According to the notes on the back, his name was Chester Newsom.” She turned it to show neatly handwritten words on the back of the photo. The date was September 3, 1888. “I’ve only just begun to skim the pages of the journal, but it seemed she was engaged to Chester for a year, and they were tobe wed just months after this photo was taken. I haven’t found out what happened, but it’s obvious that none of her trousseau has been touched. And I found this.” She hurried over to the desk where she’d piled the items from the trunk and lifted a gauzy black veil. “She was in mourning. It could have been for her dad, but since I found it in the hope chest, I’m sure it was for Chester.”

“The house was started in 1890 and finished in late 1891, at least according to the county site that keeps track of owners and deeds. Her fiancé’s death would have been pre-curse.”

“You’re right,” she said. I was already making a mental catalogue of her adorable expressions. Her wide-eyed, excited one was especially cute. Having Ella around might be the worst or the best thing that could have happened to me. I found myself being taken by surprise, only I was never big on surprises, especially because, as I’d discovered recently, not all surprises were good.

“Obviously, I can’t weave Chester’s untimely death into the Grimstone curse because the manor didn’t exist. I’m going to sit here and keep reading for a little while if that’s all right with you. I promise I’ll be as quiet as?—”

“A mouse,” I finished for her. “Of course, you can stay and read. You can even take the journal home if you like.” I hadn’t meant it to sound like I was pushing her out, but her instant frown told me that was exactly how it sounded.

“Great. I’ll just get my coat and scarf and?—”

“No, Ella, stay, please. I’m going to make a pot of macaroni and cheese for lunch if you’re interested?”

Her smile returned. “The kind from the box, where the cheese is more orange coloring than it is cheese, and the noodles are just a reasonable facsimile of pasta?”

“Well, if you’re going to make it sound so gourmet. I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got in the pantry.”

“Count me in. Did you know you can make it even more divine by crumbling some crisp pieces of toast on top? A little trick my sister, Layla, and I came up with back when we were so young that was the only thing we knew how to cook.”

“I’ve got some toast. Gourmet boxed mac and cheese coming right up. Are you still warm enough?”

She peered up at me shyly. “I was thinking about pulling on my coat.”

“I’ll bring you the throw blanket from the couch, and I’ll give the chimney company a call to see if they can move up their appointment to later this afternoon.”

“Thanks so much, Rhett. You know, you’re not nearly as grim and strange as I first thought.” She winked teasingly at me. It was another expression for my mental catalogue.

Chapter Thirteen

ELLA

My throat tightened as I read the journal passage. The handwriting on the page was not nearly as tight and neat as on the rest of the pages. There were two stains on the paper, and I could easily imagine tears falling from Margaret’s eyes as she wrote the entry:

Such a day. Such a day. I will not soon forget this terrible, wretched moment in time. And the looks of sympathy, the wishes for you, my dear, to rest in peace. I nearly pulled off my veil and ran screaming across the cemetery grounds because my soul will not rest in peace. It has been torn asunder, ripped from my heart and thrown carelessly out into the dreary, bleak landscape that is my new world. For I cannot imagine sunlight, fresh air or the beauty of a butterfly being anything but painful without you by my side. Chester, my love, my heart, my soul, there are no words to describe the pain.Just a month ago, the seamstress was putting the final touches on the most beautiful confection of a wedding dress, a gown you will never see, a gown your strong hands will never slip tenderly from my shoulders and hips. I curse the dress. I curse the beautiful butterflies. I curse any sliver of happiness that comes my way because I know it will never be enough to erase my torment. Mostly my dear, I curse that terrible fever, that ferocious, relentless, savage illness that cleaved you from my life for good and has left me a mere shell of my former self. As you lay struggling to take your last breaths, you begged me to move on with my life, to find another man worthy of my love, but it will never be. You were the only one for me, my love. There will never be anyone else.

Itook a deep breath and blinked back the tears. I’d been so lost in the passage, I hadn’t heard Rhett walk into the room. I swiped clumsily at my tears.

He stepped forward with a look of concern. “Is everything all right?”

I smiled and sniffled. “Just little ole me and my volcano of emotions. Sorry if I alarmed you.” I took another deep breath. “I found the passage that confirms my first theory. Chester died before the wedding day. A terrible, ferocious, relentless, savage fever. Her words.” I glanced down at the stained page. “Shewas devastated. We always assume people with immeasurable wealth are perpetually happy but?—”

“That’s definitely not the case.” Rhett’s face dropped as he muttered the words. He raked his hair back and took a deep breath. “Lunch is ready. That’s what I came to tell you. If you can part with Margaret for a while.”

I looked longingly at the journal in my lap. “You’re right. I’ve spent the last few hours with this journal, and I already feel a connection to her.” I stood up and placed the journal on the chair. “Sorry Mags, but mac and cheese—you get it, right?”

I followed Rhett out of the room. He glanced over at me in the dimly lit corridor. “Do you think Mags ate boxed mac and cheese?”

“Probably not since I don’t think it was available yet, but then, if I had to wear a corset and tight bodice, I’d probably skip the mac and cheese, too.” I couldn’t hold back the smile when we reached the kitchen. Rhett had crumbled crispy toast on top of the bowls of noodles. I had no idea why, but it touched my heart that he’d taken me up on my suggestion. “You added the toast.”

“Yep, and I think I did an admirable job of it.” He motioned toward the table. “I’ve only got water and beer to drink.”

“Water’s fine.” I sat down. He brought over two glasses of water and sat. A silent, awkward moment followed, the kind that follows after you sit down to dinner with a first date. It was silly, because this was definitely not a date.

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