Page 19 of The Best Laid Plans

“Excellent.”

“Because they weren’t running heat or AC, the swing in temps throughout each year wreaked havoc on the interior of the house. Animals have gotten in over time. Some unruly kids who helped addto the mess.” I stared up at the second-floor landing. “They didn’t steal anything, which is a miracle, really.”

There were some mighty big thoughts going on in Burke Barrett’s head; it was written all over his face.

Gawd, I wanted to pluck them out with my bare hands—it was killing me not knowing what he was thinking, what he wanted to do.

His gaze swung back to me, and I felt very much like he’d just pinned me onto a corkboard for dissection. “And what do you do with your days, since nothing is happening here?”

“Oh, the usual. I trim my split ends and watch reality TV.”

He didn’t appreciate my sarcasm, but honestly, I didn’t appreciate a lot about his approach, so I fought the urge to shrink under his stare.

“I keep busy, trust me,” I added. “A project of this magnitude requires a lot of decisions before a single thing happens to the house.”

“I don’t even know what my decision is yet,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous.

“I know.” I arched an eyebrow. “But I think you’ll do the right thing.”

He didn’t say anything.

There was no attempt to make me feel better.

No coddling or soothing.

I could’ve given him a million reasons why it was worth whatever disruption it would bring to his life, and I had opened my mouth to do just that when he broke the stalemate.

“Did the previous owners leave anything here?” he asked.

I nodded. “Most of the furniture is upstairs in the bedrooms. There’s some artwork in the carriage house.” I briefly locked eyes with him and gestured to one of the drawers in the built-in. “But I found this last week. I couldn’t believe they kept it all those years. You might want it,” I said slowly.

His brows furrowed, but he didn’t argue. Carefully, I opened the drawer and pulled out the small brass frame, covered in spots thatdesperately screamed for polish. Inside was a faded school photo. The boy’s face was split in a smile, his two front teeth missing. His sandy hair was cut in a bowl shape around his freckle-cheeked face. CHRISwas printed in gold ink on the bottom corner of the photo.

My eyes burned as I held it out to him.

Burke didn’t take it right away, his hands stuck by his sides like they were frozen. His eyes bored holes into the frame, his chest expanding on a massive inhale.

Then he snatched it out of my hand and tucked it into his back pocket without sparing it a single glance.

My heart dipped down by my stomach.

That’s how you knew pain was still so real and raw, because he couldn’t even begin to stare it in the face.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” I told him.

He stared down at the floor. Then he nodded.

“He seemed really nice.” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “And obviously this place meant a lot to him if—”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” he said. His voice was low and quiet and held an urgent edge that made the room feel a little bit colder than it had a moment earlier.

I managed a nod.

“I think I’ve seen enough.”

My stomach sank. It felt very much like the Campbell House was still frustratingly out of reach.

“Can we get your banking information? I’ll transfer the rest of what I owe you.”

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