Page 27 of Finders Keepers
“I don’t think the treasure was inside that room,” I reiterate. “I’m like ninety percent certain it wasn’t. Don’t patronize me by telling me it was smart for me to look there.”
“Okay, fine. You were wrong to look there and it was a stupid thing to do. And also you suck.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling somewhat relieved to have that over with, even if he is being facetious.
“But also maybe you were onto something. That summer, almost all of our search focused on the property.”
“Yeah, because we didn’t have access to the house.” I’m aware of the irony that I am the one saying this, so I add, “Technically.”
“Right. But that’s a pretty massive oversight, don’t you think? Hecouldhave hidden it inside the house.”
It’s true that, aside from my solo search in July and that last night, we almost solely focused on the gardens and outbuildings. Probably because it was a lot more fun as teens to wander around, tapping on various stones and covertly digging small holes, than to try to reconstruct the Castle’s original interior based on old photos. That, and we hadn’t exactly planned to trespass at the beginning, especially not into a spooky-ass mansion.
“Hmm.” I stand and start following the brick pathway through the gardens. Quentin follows close behind me; I can tell becausehe’s started whistling idly, the way he did my first day back in town when he made his way from the porch to his car.
I turn abruptly as we reach the ornate asymmetrical front of Fountain’s mansion. “Is that even a real song?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond, only quirks the corner of his mouth.
“If you’re just going to try to get on my nerves all summer, we don’t have to do this at all,” I threaten.
Quentin tucks his hands into his pockets and takes a step closer, tilting his head down. His mouth is only inches from my ear, and when he speaks, the heat of his breath sweeps against the sensitive skin there. “I’m not trying to get on your nerves, Nina.” His voice is quiet, intimate. The way it might be if we were in a crowded room and he wanted to ensure his words were for my ears only. “I’m succeeding.”
“Okay, that’s it,” I declare, turning on my heel again. Sure, I’m only confirming his assertion, but I can’t stand here and convincingly insist he isn’t getting under my skin. Because I’ve rarely been more annoyed. Not just with him, but with the hot pressure curled in my stomach like a cobra, unsure whether to take a nap or strike. There’s no way I can handle an entire eight weeks of spending time with this man. He is…frustrating.Veryfrustrating.
“Neen, wait,” he says, lunging forward. His hand grabs mine and gently pulls until I’m back at the base of the stairs leading up to the Castle’s entryway. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
I narrow my eyes. I find that doubtful, especially because his own eyes are once again crinkled in the corners in the stupidly handsome way that means he’s finding this very funny. I’m about to tell him so—that I doubt he’ll be good, not the stupidly handsome part—when one side of the front doors creaks open, revealing a small, plump, middle-aged white woman.
“Oh, hello!” she calls to us. “You’re just in time! We’re about to start our two o’clock tour.”
Shall we?Quentin asks with his eyebrows and a quirk of his lips.
As tempted as I am to be contrary for the sake of it, I am much more intensely curious about the interior of Sprangbur Castle now that it’s been restored. And if we might be able to get a good look at that parlor with the stars. “Fine,” I grumble, and follow him inside.
FORM C—3
Text of Interview (Unedited)
III
Have you been to Edlo, Mr. Aaron? No, I don’t suppose you have. Don’t look like the sort of person who could make it there. Now, that’s not a slight—the journey simply isn’t for the faint of heart.
I will be honest with you and confess that it took me several attempts to get there for the first time myself. Isolde and Lou, they took to it right away. No braver hearts than those two ladies. The land opened up before them and welcomed them with open arms. For me, it took more coaxing. More time. Some growth.
You see, Edlo only appears to those who can believe in its magic. I wanted to believe, very desperately. I wanted to join Issy and Lou in that wonderful place. It wasn’t until I rediscovered the lightness in my heart that I had packed away after Fordham’s and my brother and sister-in-law’s deaths that I suddenly saw the same fantastic world they were seeing.
Would you like to go there, Mr. Aaron? Of course you would. No place better.
Well, we’ll have to work on your lightness, then. Your heart’s altogether too heavy at the moment. I can see it in your shoes.
12
The woman whobeckoned us inside introduces herself to the small group of assembled people in the foyer as Sharon, the deputy director of the Sprangbur Conservancy and our tour guide. She’s very pleasant, if a bit scattered. Clearly someone who knows a lot about Julius Fountain and his estate, but isn’t necessarily well-versed in delivering that knowledge in a way that is organized and concise. The historian portion of my brain appreciates the information and stories, but the rest of it wishes she would hurry up already. We’ve been here for fifteen minutes so far and are only now getting to our first room of the tour, the library. At this rate, it’s going to be at least an hour before we reach the second-floor parlor I tried to search as a kid.
I’m not sure I can handle standing beside Quentin for that long. His proximity has a strange effect on me. It’s like he’s a freak weather system sweeping through, leaving me somehow simultaneously cold, hot, and wet all at once. My brain is aware that this is the same person who left me feeling abandoned seventeen years ago, but my body refuses to believe it.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve been through so much lately, with losing my job and breaking up with Cole and returning to this town, and my subconscious is trying to protect me from falling into a deep depression by distracting me with an attraction to someone convenient. Yes. I’m sure that’s all it is! A way to keep myself occupied so I don’t start anxiety spiraling. Nothing more.
