Page 64 of Fall for Me

“How was it?” I asked, gently.

As the two youngest Kelly siblings, Jude was closer to me than the other three. Even if I didn’t always reciprocate, he knew he could talk to me without me providing judgment or advice, and I could expect the same.

Jude frowned—an unusual look on him. “She’s coming with the company to New York in January. She wants to see Jack. My first thought was hell no—she’s never been in his life.” He grimaced. “But neither was I until I was sidelined.”

Jude’s injury was his wake-up call. It was what finally gave him the courage to stay in one place and be a father to his son.

I didn’t have kids. My life was less messy. Maybe it would have been easier if I did, though. My future would be that much clearer. Jude’s whole life now was Jack. Jack and the mystery of the ghost at the Rolling Hills.

“But I can’t keep Jack from his mother,” Jude said, looking down and twisting his fork around on the table. He fidgeted when he was troubled, I remembered.

It wasn’t until we were leaving that Jude slapped his knee. “I almost forgot what I was going to tell you in the first place!” he exclaimed. “Even before the Jamie codebreaker development.”

“Hit me,” I said.

“Nora figured out who Eleanor’s husband was.” His face spread in a giant, beaming grin.

“What?”

Eleanor’s husband—the person who allegedly murdered her—had been a mystery from the beginning. The Vista Grand had been a popular place for tycoons back before the Second World War. We didn’t have the old hotel ledgers—they’d been lost years ago—so the only information we had on guests was based on news clippings from the time.

Then I registered the name he’d just mentioned.

“Wait, Nora? You mean the town librarian?”

“Yeah—God, Chels, keep up.” Jude explained that he’d been spending time with Nora, who he’d met at the library’s children’s story time. Now that he mentioned it, I remember he’d been chatting to her at one of Eli’s baseball games back in the summer. It turned out she also had an interest in ridiculous mysteries, like the one at our hotel. It also turned out she and my brother—the most unlikely pairing, given her quiet, almost mousy demeanor—had become friends.

Jude looked almost soft when he talked about her. If I didn’t know better, I would have wondered if there was something else going on between them.

But I did know better, and I knew my brother. He dated, he broke hearts. But he didn’t have crushes.

Finally, Jude glanced at his phone and grimaced. “Shit. I’m late for that staff meeting.” He gave me another stinky squeeze before I could protest.

After Jude left, I stayed downtown for a bit, thinking it would help keep me distracted. I considered texting Mia to see if she wanted to hang out, but put my phone away at the last minute. What I needed was to be distracted by moving forward, thinking about my future, not gossiping about inconsequential things with Mia. We hadn’t talked since I’d returned Lola to her the other day. I’d tried to hide my injuries, but of course Mia noticed the tear in my pants. When she’d grasped my wrists, inspecting the scrapes, I’d confessed Lola had gotten a bit rambunctious. I didn’t tell her about how I’d nearly been hit by a car, nor did I tell her about who patched me up.

I’d kept that to myself.

So, instead of calling Mia, I went window shopping. Maybe getting some new work clothes would help. Maybe, wearing new clothes, I could envision what it would be like to be my own boss. But as I peered through the window of the women’s clothing stores on Arbutus, I realized the idea excited me more than I’d admitted. I couldn’t seem to let it go.

I went inside and selected several outfits from the racks.

As I tried them on, I couldn’t help picture wearing them at my own office, not unlike the one Reilly and Sons occupied. Small and intimate, in downtown Quince Valley. Artfully decorated with a bell over the door, sunlight streaming into my office. There would be event plans posted on the walls, a schedule dotted with the select, curated events I chose based on how much I fell in love with each celebration…

It was silly, but buying the blazers felt like a step in the right direction. A future Chelsea—one who didn’t ache when she thought about Seamus Reilly.

That night, I dropped my bags by the front door, exhausted, and slept for nearly fourteen hours. It wasn’t until the next day, when I got around to putting away the clothes I’d bought, that I reached into my bag and pulled out the paper package Seamus had given me.

My stomach dropped.

Somehow, in the rush yesterday, I’d completely forgotten about it. All the effort I’d made the day before keeping Seamus out of my head vanished as the feelings from the previous morning rushed back. How he’d thrust the package in my hand while I could still taste him on my lips; while blood still rushed through my veins, heating up my very core.

I held the package, feeling ridiculous at how suddenly nervous I was—my pulse raced in my ears. It was just a present. A book, probably.

Except when I unfolded the top, my breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t just a book. It was a sketchbook—the good kind, with real weighted paper. There was a packet of drawing pencils inside, too.

I sat down on the bed, my heart thudding with emotion. I still hadn’t quite believed it when Seamus remembered.

I turned the blank pages, feeling touched and pained in turns. It was thoughtful, beyond thoughtful. But the thought of drawing again… a memory rushed at me, of paint, streaking down a water-logged paper. Cold rain pressing down on me. A feeling like a knot inside of me, twisting tighter and tighter.

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