Page 36 of The Candlemaker

Crap.We both turned toward our brother’s rasped voice, the bell at the front of the gallery chiming his arrival.

“I’ve got another—” Kit stopped short when he saw me. “Frankie.” His dark brows furrowed as they looked between Lou and me. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I answered. Lou would never be convincing with the lie. “Just stopped in to say hi on my way back to my shop.”It was the truth.More or less.“But I should get going.”I looked back at Lou and smiled. “I’ll talk to you later.” What I was really saying was,please don’t say anything to Kit.

Kit would be upset and protective. He’d tell Jamie. Jamie would be furious and tyrannical. I’d never make it back to the inn tonight. Lou would lose her dream of the inn.And I would lose my chance to kiss Chandler Collins one more time.

It wasn’t the right thought to have, but it made sense. If I was going to kiss anyone—want to kiss anyone—Chandler was the perfect person.

Who safer to kiss than the man who was my enemy?

If stillness had a scent, it would’ve been the only one in the cool air wrapping around the inn. There were only a handful of people out on the sidewalk this late, one or two lingering glances spared in my direction. I smiled back like it was completely normal for someone to be standing on the sidewalk in lounge clothes, a camping backpack, and my pillow hugged to my chest.

A girl had to have her pillow.

Thankfully, my family had been otherwise occupied when I stopped back at Mom’s house to grab some of the camping gear tucked away in the basement. I hadn’t camped in a while, but I figured I wouldn’t need more than a sleeping bag, blanket,and pillow. Standing out there, though, I wondered if I should’ve brought two blankets.

“Come on…” I muttered and checked my phone.I was early on purpose. I wasn’t going to give the clever Mr. Collins any excuse to doubt my commitment to my cause.

With a sigh, I tipped my head back, staring up at the stars that pricked pinpoint holes in the fabric of the night sky. Another breath of stillness sent a shiver tumbling down my spine. Six nights. Six nights at the inn. With Chandler. For Lou.

Unless he was bluffing. It was nine o’clock.Ifhe was going to stand me up?—

“Frankie.”

I spun and shivered—not from the cold this time. “Chandler.” I lifted my chin and leashed my smile to a minimum, but even there it faltered as my gaze swept over him.

Jeans. T-shirt. Zip-up jacket. My mouth parted. This was the first time I’d seen him without buttons. No button-up shirt. No unbuttoned shirt sleeves. No single-button suit jacket. He almost looked…relaxed. And it was like seeing Superman without his cape.Chandler’s no hero,I reminded myself. So maybe it was more like seeing the devil without his horns.

He stepped closer, my pillow thankfully disguising the sudden hitch in my breath when his chest was close enough to brush my arms if either of us breathed too deep. Sandalwood and cloves sank their seductive claws into my chest. Maybe I should make a Chandler candle. Not to remember his scent—never that—but to desensitize myself to the instant ache it seemed to create.

“I see you’re prepared.” His stare prickled my skin, dotting it like the night sky with thousands of pinpoints of heat.

Me?“Of course.” I clutched my pillow tighter. “I’m always ready.”

I was about to ask if he’d changed his mind—ignoring the unexpected twinge and deflation of my chest at the thought—when he turned to the gate.That was why he stood so close.With a gulp, I stepped back so he could fit the key into the lock.

“I’m sure,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped through and held the gate open for me.

It wasn’t until I walked through and glanced over my shoulder that it struck me that hewasn’tprepared. He had no…stuff. No bag. No clothes.No pillow.

The urge to ask made it to the tip of my tongue before I clamped my jaw shut and swallowed it back down. If he planned on sleeping in his clothes on the old hardwood floor, that was his problem. I was going to be as snug as a bug.

I followed his lead to the front door, my eyes darting around as he unlocked what looked like a shiny new deadbolt installed on the door. I bit back my smile. As long as he hadn’t replaced the faulty latch on the back window in the kitchen, he could install whatever locks on the doors he wanted.

“Should I knock before we go in? I wouldn’t want to upset any of the ghosts,” he taunted.

“You don’t believe there are ghosts, so why should you care about upsetting them?” I countered sweetly. “Unless you’re worried I’m right, and it is haunted.”

His eyes flashed, and then he swung the door wide.No knock then.

Again, he held the door open for me, tension rippling through his body like it pained him to be a gentleman.Good, it pained me too.

I stopped just inside, the shadows painting a familiar picture of the wide entrance hall, the staircase tucked on the right that led up to the second floor, the long living room onthe right. Walking straight down the hall led to the dining room and then the kitchen at the back of the house. I closed my eyes, a different scent filling my lungs—a scent of history that only dust and must and all the boarded-up secrets of the inn could create.

“Sensing the spirits?” His deep voice interrupted my thoughts. My eyes flung open just as the door closed and engulfed us in darkness.

I heard my sharp inhale as I scrambled for my phone and the flashlight on it, but then fresh light spilled through the space.

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