Page 50 of Holly and Ivar
“Maybe broom travel would have been easier,” she quipped when the tires spun on a patch of ice.
“Maybe it followed us here,” Ivar replied.
“When I left the inn, it was curled up in front of the fire with a coffee and a good book.”
He raised his eyebrows.“Tell me you’re joking.”
“Of course I’m joking.It seems to have gone back to its regular dormant-broomy self.”
“Is it strange that this conversation doesn’t strike me as weird?”
Holly laughed as Ivar turned off the engine.
Silence settled around them as they glanced around the property.The house stood at the end of the drive, a weatherworn two-story with faded blue shutters, stoic and empty but not unloved.The shed off to the side leaned slightly, as if bowing under the weight of its secrets.
For a moment, neither spoke.A faint current of energy hummed in the air; it was subtle but also too strong to ignore.Both of them shivered at the same instant, and when she turned to Ivar, he was already looking at her.No words passed between them, but a quiet understanding did.Whatever that was, they’d both felt it.
A crunching sound came from behind, and they turned to see an SUV pulling up the drive.Chad stepped out, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky.
Holly and Ivar walked to meet him as Rowan climbed out of the passenger seat.“Ivar is the local park ranger,” Holly said, introducing him.“He’s been consulting with me as I assess the land.I brought him along today for a second opinion, if that’s all right.”
“Of course,” Chad said, though his tone suggested otherwise.
“And you’re planning to tear down the buildings?”Holly asked.
“Yes,” he replied briskly.“I’ve brought the plans to show you.”
Rowan said nothing, eyes fixed on the ground.
“They must be over a hundred years old,” Holly said, studying the weathered siding and faded shutters.“Do you mind if I take a peek inside?I love old houses.”
“There’s not much to see,” Chad began, but Rowan’s face brightened, and she was already moving toward the porch.
“It hasn’t changed much,” Rowan said softly, running her gloved fingers along the railing.“Aunt Betty loved this place.She said that the quiet helped her think.”
“Did you ever come out here?”Holly asked Ivar quietly as he fell into step beside her.
He shook his head.“No.Not many people did.Everyone said Miss Hale was eccentric, but kind.”
Rowan turned the key in the old brass lock, the sound loud in the stillness.“Come on in.”
Inside, the air was cool and a little stagnant, but clean, carrying the faint scent of cedar, mothballs, and old paper.Light filtered through lace curtains, and the old floorboards creaked under their boots.
“It’s smaller than I remember,” Rowan said, her voice drifting ahead of them.“But I was smaller then, too.”She trailed her fingers across the top of a sideboard cluttered with glass jars and yellowed recipe cards.“But Aunt Betty always said that small houses have big hearts.”
Holly smiled faintly.“That’s a lovely sentiment.”
The living room opened on their left.Holly took in the floral wallpaper, brick hearth, and shelves of books that bowed under their weight.There was nothing remarkable about it.Just a sense of a life well-lived, of evenings spent by the fire, and of mornings with coffee and a hearty breakfast.
Chad lingered in the doorway, scrolling on his phone.“You see what I mean,” he said.“Nothing special.”
“Chad,” Rowan admonished.“This is our family history.”
“Whatever,” Chad replied.
Holly ignored him, focusing on Rowan as she took in the crocheted afghan on the sofa, the framed photographs of maple harvests and winter carnivals.
“Have you not been here recently?”Holly asked.
