He chuckles as I show him one of the bathrooms. "Oh boy!" He snorts. "You certainly weren't kidding."
We spend the next hour poking through the different rooms I need him to look at before I can even think about opening up the house. He measures, mumbles, then scribbles on his clipboard as we move along.
By the time we make it back to the foyer, he sends me a big smile.
"I'll be sure to send you a quote within the next day or two." He pushes his hair away from his face in a nervous gesture. "Now, I have to warn you, ma'am, it ain't gonna be cheap. There's a lot of updating that needs doing, and we'll probably need to look at the plumbing and wiring in those areas too."
Smiling in response, I wave away his concerns. "You're fine, Rocco. I figured as much. Just as long as I can get it done, so we can move on to the next step. I look forward to hearing from you soon."
I wave him off before heading back to my sanctuary.
I've really grown fond of the library. Some nights even falling asleep in what I now consideredmysettee curled up with Sparrow, purring away at my feet.
As I step into the warm room, with the constantly lit fire—no matter the time of day, it always seems to be fed and crackling away—and pause immediately.
There's a plate. A small ceramic plate, painted with delicate flowers, resting on the table beside my favorite chair.
Not just a plate, but a platewitha cookie. A perfect, buttery shortbread.
I blink.
My heart beats in my throat as I take a cautious step forward. I didn't bring it in here. And as I knew the contractor was coming today, I changed the usual cleaning schedule, so I know it wasn't one of the cleaning staff.
I look around the room slowly. Nothing stirs. Sparrow yawns from his perch near the fireplace and blinks at me with his one eye, like this is all perfectly normal.
Slowly, I pick up the plate. The cookie crumbles just right when I bite into it, and melts in my mouth, just like I knew it would.
It's perfect.
Too perfect.
My heart flutters again.
I should be scared. Yet, I'm not. I'm elated.
"Thank you," I whisper to the empty room. "This is lovely."
As usual, when I speak to the house, there's no response, but this time, there's something. Something... more.
The gifts keep coming.
It's as if a seal has been broken and now that it has, someone or something has taken it upon themselves to spoil me silly. It's almost like having a real-life Daddy, here with me.
Almost.
The first gift after the cookie is a delicate silver hairbrush left on my dresser. The bristles are soft, the handle worn smooth by time.
There's an A carved into the underside in an old looping script.
Holding it against my chest for a moment, I cherish the thoughtful gesture. "This is brilliant, thank you," I whisper in the quiet room. As it's time for bed, I immediately undo the braid I had my hair in for the day and start pulling the brush through it.
Later that week, I open the nursery door to find a small, old-fashioned storybook resting on the rocking chair.
The title,The Stone Guardian's Secretreminds me of the two sentries on top of the house, and the fact that I still haven't found a way up to the roof and turrets. I've been dying to get my hands on them, but no matter how many passageways I go down, I've been unable to find the wayup.
With hushed reverence, I pick up the storybook—that definitely wasn't there last night—and slowly flick through the pages. The illustrations are absolutely stunning, and I can't wait to tuck myself into bed with it tonight.
"Thank you," I tell my mysterious benefactor. "I love it. Now, if only you can show me the way to the roof, so I can enjoy the book next tomystone guardians."
