Page 26 of Hensley Manor
“I’m sorry for mentioning it.” His eyes reflected his apology. “I only…I was just…”
“It’s fine.”
But wasI?
In a mere second, my whole mood had shifted. The mention of a past I’d rather forget had torn me from the fantasy and thrown me back into reality.
The timer for the apple pies beeped, and I jumped as the sound pierced through the silent kitchen. Ian grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the muffin tins from the oven. He examined them, and once he was satisfied they were done, he turned off the oven.
“I really am sorry.” Ian went to step toward me but stopped himself. “I—”
“Can we just drop it?” My tone sounded harsher than I’d intended. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Of course,” he said, not meeting my stare. That familiar blush returned to his cheeks, combined now with a layer of guilt in his expression. He scooped the pies out of the tin and placed them on a rack to cool. “Thank you for helping make them.”
“You’re welcome.”
Not wanting to meet his eyes for fear of me breaking down, I left the kitchen in a rush.
And just like that, the moment was lost.
***
Ian didn’t join us for dinner.
I sat beside Tracy, half-listening to what she said but mostly listening for footsteps in the hall outside the dining room. Each time I heard someone walking, I straightened up a bit in my seat…only to sink back down when I saw Benji. The chair at the head of the table remained vacant all through the meal, and the sight of it caused an ache in the center of my chest.
When dessert was brought out, I looked at the mini apple pies and couldn’t bring myself to eat any. My appetite was shot to shit; I had barely been able to eat the garlic and herb grilled chicken and stuffing for dinner. Seeing the pies only reminded me of the fun time I’d had with Ian while making them and then the weirdness that followed once he asked about my stupid scar.
Why had I snapped at him? He couldn’t possibly have known the story behind the scar was a painful one.
As an idea sparked, I placed two of the pies in a napkin before closing it up and standing from the table.
Tracy eyed me. “Taking a special treat to a certain someone, eh?”
“Maybe.” I smiled, though it fell flat. “Do you happen to know where he is?”
“If he’s not in the drawing room, he’s probably in his bedroom.”
I blinked. “Okay. And where is his bedroom?”
I didn’t want to knock on the wrong person’s door.
She told me, and I thanked her before leaving the dining room, heading toward the stairs. The light from the chandelier bounced off the glass ornaments on the small tree at the bottom of the staircase, and I paused when I saw one in the shape of a snowflake. It was almost identical to one Mom had always put on our tree. She had loved the snow.
Maybe that’s why I hated it now. Just another painful reminder.
I climbed the steps to the second floor and turned left to walk down the long hallway. Ian’s room was at the end. At his door, I lifted a somewhat shaking hand and knocked. Silence. Just as I was about to knock again, the handle turned and the door opened.
Ian stood in front of me, his hair tousled and a bit damp, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. I also noticed he’d changed into casual clothes; a black T-shirt and sweats that rode low on his hips. When he raised an arm and rested it against the doorframe, the shirt lifted to reveal a mouthwatering peek of his lower abdomen.
“Hey,” I croaked, before clearing my throat. “Y-you weren’t at dinner.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
I held up the bundled napkin. “Can I come in?”
Ian gave a curt nod of his head and opened the door wider, letting me inside before shutting it once I’d passed. His room resembled mine, but it held more of a personal touch; photos on the wall, a five shelf bookcase overflowing with books, and a TV with an entertainment center.
