Page 47 of Flare
“I don’t mind,” he said truthfully, starting towards the house.“If you want to grab that box of books, I’ll show you to your room.”
He led the way up the flagstone path to the front porch.
“Careful,” he warned.“The second step has a case of dry rot. Been meaning to replace it for a while now.”
Emily navigated the uneven step carefully, and Ward unlocked the front door, pushing it open and reaching inside to flip on the lights. He stepped back to let Emily enter first, suddenly acutely aware of every unfinished project visible from the entryway.
The living room had a comfortable leather sofa and armchair in front of a tiled fireplace with original mantel, but the bookshelves built into the wall were only partially stained, and he’d installed crown molding on two walls but not yet on the third and fourth.
A drop cloth covered half the floor where he’d been patching and repainting the plaster wall. And his firefighter turnouts hung from an aluminum ladder next to the fireplace.
“Sorry about the mess,” Ward said.“I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”
Emily stepped fully into the living room, her gaze moving over the exposed beams of the ceiling, the scratched and worn hardwood floors, and the newly renovated bay window with its unfinished trim.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.“And it’s going to be amazing when it’s done.”
Warmth bloomed in Ward’s chest at her words. Not pity or polite dismissal, but genuine understanding.“Thank you,” he said, suddenly feeling shy.“This place has been a labor of love for the last two years. I work on it whenever I’m between jobs.”
“This is gorgeous,” Emily said, running her hand along the edge of the built-in bookshelf.“Is this original or did you make it?”
Ward grinned.“I made it, but as a replacement for a built-in that used to be here,” he said.“Someone‘updated’this place at some point and removed all the original cabinetry. And the most recent owner let the place go pretty badly when she got old. When she passed away, her kids sold it to me for a steep discount because it neededeverything—new roof, plumbing, electrical, HVAC, foundation repairs…”
He’d spent nearly every penny he’d earned over the past two years just on infrastructure while aching to tackle the projects that called to him—restoring the trim around the windows and doorways, building custom cabinets for the kitchen, refinishing the worn oak floors, and everything else that would make this house beautiful again.
“You’re breathing life back into it,” Emily observed, and the simple truth of her words struck him.
Ward cleared his throat, suddenly finding it difficult to speak past a lump of emotion.“Let me show you to the guest room,” he said.“It’s one of the few completely finished spaces, actually.”
He led her down the short hallway.
“Bathroom’s there on the left,” Ward explained, pointing at a door.“My room’s at the end of the hall, and this—” he pushed open the nearest door “—is my guest room.”
It was small but airy, with a window that looked out over the backyard. He’d painted the walls a soft sage green, and furnished the room with a queen-sized bed with a carved headboard, an antique oak dresser, and an old armoire. A handmade quilt in shades of blue and green covered the bed, and a simple armchair he’d made from reclaimed wood sat in the corner.
“This is nice,” Emily said, stepping inside and putting her box of books on the chair.“Did you make the furniture too?”
Ward set down her suitcases and duffel and nodded, feeling an unexpected flush of pride.“Some of it. The bed and chair.”
“They’re beautiful.” A small smile touched Emily’s lips at that, but it faded quickly, replaced by a drawn look of exhaustion. The sight of it reignited Ward’s protective instincts.
“Let me get you some fresh towels, and then I’ll fetch the pizza from my truck.”
He returned with an armful of thick cotton towels to find Emily sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumped. She looked up as he entered, and the vulnerability in her expression made his bear rumble with the need to comfort and protect.
“Here you go,” Ward said gently, setting the towels on the bed.“Ready to eat?”
∞∞∞
The pizza was delicious, as usual, but Emily only picked at her food.
“Should I have ordered a different pizza?” Ward asked, concerned.
Emily shook her head.“No, this is perfect. I’m just not hungry. It’s been… aday, Ward.” She sighed.“I think I’m just going to turn in, if that’s okay. I have an early start tomorrow. I promised Maggie I’d help her set up the Cinnamon + Sugar booth and work as her cashier.”
He stared at her in disbelief.“You’re actually going to work at the festival tomorrow? After everything that’s happened?”
“Ipromised,” Emily said.“Besides, with Maggie there, and a bunch of other people around, I don’t think Andrew would try anything. He, uh, hates looking bad in front of… anyone who isn’tme, I guess.”
