Page 67 of Unpacking Secrets
“Then let’s go home.”
Twenty-Seven
Henry
WatchingJuliet’scautiousprogresstoward being comfortable with a serious relationship was far more rewarding than I ever expected. Day by day, she softened, opening up to me by slow degrees. Sometimes she would visit me at the inn, bringing a tote bag full of Nan’s journals to peruse as she curled up in a chair in the corner of my office.
Those were some of my favorite afternoons—the quiet comfort of her company, the little smile that played across her lips at Nan’s sharp commentary, the way her eyes lifted to meet mine over the top of a leatherbound book, twinkling with amusement whenever she caught me staring.
We talked about her plans to start painting in the garden next week, ventured into Mark’s shop to sniff every bar of soap he had for sale, held hands as we wandered down Main Street with ice cream cones. I replaced the curtains in her bedroom, but it didn’t matter much, since she spent her nights in my bed.
Even though she was no closer to uncovering her father’s identity or her mother’s reason for leaving town, Juliet seemed happy.
I knew I was—blissfully, exquisitely happy.
She was so easy to be with, such a startling contrast to our first couple meetings. Or maybebecauseit was such a contrast, it became a soothing balm against those sparks that had threatened to burn us both before they took on an entirely different kind of heat.
While she clearly enjoyed every moment we spent together, she confessed one night that she still worried. She blamed it on her mother’s note, planting the prospect of danger in her mind, so she couldn’t help but feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Toward the end of the week, just after three-thirty in the morning, it finally did.
We awoke to the insistent buzzing of my phone, still tucked in the pocket of my jeans where they’d been thrown to the floor in a rush the night before. Juliet murmured sleepily against my shoulder and I pressed a kiss to her temple before slipping out of bed to locate the phone.
The buzzing stopped just as I read my grandfather’s name on the screen, then started up again when he called back a second time. Expecting the worst, I answered it.
“Gramps, what is it?” I asked, my voice low.
Panic seeped through me, alleviated only slightly by the sound of his voice on the other end. My eyes shot to Juliet as I listened. She sat up, wrapping the sheet around her bare torso. With the phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, I pulled on my jeans, then knelt on the bed to cup her face in my hands.
“Yes, she’s here with me. We’ll be right over. Thanks, Gramps.”
“What happened?” she asked, all trace of sleep replaced by sudden tension as her eyes widened with panic.
“There’s a fire at the cottage,” I said gently. “One of the guests at the inn saw the smoke. I don’t know how much damage there is, but Gramps wanted to make sure you weren’t inside. The fire department is already there.”
Juliet drew back from my hands, her eyebrows angled down in confusion as she struggled to make sense of the words.
“The cottage,” she whispered. “Oh, no.”
In the next instant, she scrambled off the bed to pull on the clothes we'd scattered throughout the bedroom. All those boxes of memories, the old pictures on the mantle, Nan’s beautiful painting in the bedroom—I saw Juliet fighting back waves of grief that had her hands trembling as she dressed.
I wasn’t sure if any of it could be saved. My own heart broke at the potential loss.
“Maybe it isn’t that bad,”she ventured. The hopeful note in her voice gutted me. “Maybe they caught it fast enough.”
I squeezed her hand and said nothing as I led her out to the truck. We made it to the cottage in record time, but I knew before we even turned up the driveway that it was, without a doubt, as bad as we feared.
Through the trees lining the driveway, the glow of the flames rose up behind them, the acrid tang of thick smoke hanging in the air. Juliet clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out, even as her eyes filled with tears.
I pulled off into the grass, well away from the two fire trucks that were parked in front of the cottage. The cheerful wildflowers Blue loved to explore were blackened and trampled. Juliet slipped out of the truck and watched the scene with wide, horrified eyes while I spoke quietly with a police officer, then my grandfather.
When I returned to her side, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight through the tremors that wracked her body.
“I’m sorry, Red,” I said against her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
Those simple words caused the floodgates to open and she crumpled against me. All I could do was hold her as she wept. I rubbed my hands over her back, murmuring senseless, soothing words against her ear.
Never in my life had I felt so helpless.
