Chapter 4

Text from Luke to Penelope:How did you get Pete's phone number?

Penelope:He's my boyfriend's cousin. Plus, I'm resourceful.

Luke:I have a few other things I could call you. Busybody.

Penelope:You don't dangle a word like "secret" in front of me and expect me to do nothing. You really should know me better than that.

Luke:I had high hopes that being thousands of miles away from you would make you less annoying.

Penelope:Oh gracious! I'm sure it only makes me worse. Since I can't SEE how you're doing, I have to use my imagination, which can sometimes be much worse than reality.

Luke:I can't believe Matt betrayed me like this.

Penelope:Don't blame Matt! He just thought he was being helpful by giving Izzy and me Pete's information as an emergency contact. Then Matt and I had a video call with him while you were at the "secret" building preparing a "secret" proposal for a "secret" job.

Luke:The quotes and overuse of the word "secret" are pretty useless at this point.

Penelope:Don't worry, I'm not going to tell anybody. I just wanted to show you how clever I am at finding out your secret. Made me feel like a spy.

Luke:Meddler. Nosy. Troublemaker.

Penelope:If you hadn't challenged me, I wouldn't have had to resort to my sneaky self. Also, I wasn't going to mention Grace Kelly, but now that you've called me a troublemaker, I just wanted to add... I told you so! *chime*

Luke:I didn't believe you had Josephine's matchmaking mayhem until now. Izzy is my only hope.

Penelope:On the contrary, I don't try to match anybody, I just make predictions. For example, Pete didn't tell me the name of the lady or the place, so he kept the main secret, but he DID say coffee girl was the same as the lady supervising the project, so... my next prediction is you'll get offered the job so then you two will have forced proximity. That's usually what happens next in all the rom-coms.

Luke:This is NOT a rom-com. Gross. Now I'm turning off my phone and going to bed. Which means good night, Penelope.

Penelope:Sweet dreams, Romeo.

Luke:I hate you.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Mr.Edgewood." Ms.St.Clare gestured toward the chair across the desk in Mrs. Kershaw's office. Mr.Holton sat as Luke did. "I'm certain you know why we asked to see you?"

Luke had been wrestling with the idea all the way over to the orphanage. On the one hand, he liked the opportunity of working this project for the experience and because of Mr.Gray's recommendation. On the other, he wanted to prove Penelope wrong.

He was not in some rom-com.

Or worse, a Hallmark movie.

"You reviewed my estimate."

"Your proposal was more in line with what we were hoping," Ms. St. Clare continued. She'd worn her hair partially down today and pulled back on the sides, displaying its length. He inwardly winced and focused back on her face. "And we would like you to head up the project, if you are willing."

"Timeline is mid-May or before?"

"That's right," Mr.Holton answered. "We would like everything completed so the donors can see how their generosity is being used."

"Apart from taking good care of these children," Ms.St.Clare added.

Luke hesitated, his pride at proving Penelope wrong fighting against doing the right thing. "What size team were you thinking?"

"We have three with experience whom you would oversee," Mr. Holton said. "Gordon Frasier is a longtime builder from Crieff, but he has recently cut back on his projects. He's agreed to join this renovation since it is so close to home and for a good cause. And, of course, you'll have Mr.MacKerrow."

"And me," Ms.St.Clare added, raising her chin as if expecting Luke to challenge her.

But he was of no mind for a challenge. She may not seem the sort to work in construction, but he'd learned a long time ago not to judge a book by its cover. His cousin Charlie proved to be one of the best carpenters he knew.

But Mr.Holton didn't seem so unmoved. Both his brows shot into orbit.

"I'm here to see the project through, John, and I mean to do so personally." Her expression brightened into a too cheery smile. "Besides, I like the idea of making something new again."

Mr.Holton paused, and some sort of awareness flashed across his features. Hmm... wonder what all that meant? Luke stopped his thoughts right there. Didn't want to know. Didn't need to know.

But the idea of some fancy woman slowing down the work, getting injured on the job, or distracting the whole team surely didn't bode well for efficiency.

Because she sure was distracting. He pulled his attention away from Ms.Distraction and back to Mr.Holton.

This project helped children. That alone was worth a yes from him.

Exactly. Focus on the children. And the experience.

"When do you want us to start?"

"Since you only arrived in Skymar two days ago and, according to Mr.Gray, you are completing another project for him, perhaps it would be beneficial to take the rest of the week to adjust to your new surroundings. Crieff is a charming village and one to explore." Mr.Holton looked to Ms.St.Clare. "That would give us time to make the necessary plans to move forward."

"Yes." Ms.St.Clare smiled, a reserved smile, but better than the high-and-mighty look he'd come to expect... until yesterday when she showed off her nice side.

He inwardly winced at his own mental observation. Nope. No need to think about any of her nice sides.

"Would Monday suit?"

Four days. A good bit of time to sort out his designs for the cabin and revisit his plans for the castle. "That'd be fine."

Of course it would be fine. Besides, a few days away from Cambric Hall and Ms.St.Clare would be just what he needed to clear his head.

In fact, distance sounded hunky-dory right now, but since Pete had the car and planned to come back for Luke in an hour or so, Luke was stuck.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take another look around the work area."

"Of course." Ms.St.Clare stood along with Mr.Holton, those blue eyes meeting his in that same powerful hold. "Mr.Holton and I will finish up with our paperwork here. Can you find the kitchen on your own?"

"Yes, ma'am." He backed toward the door. Even if he couldn't remember, spending less time around her seemed a good idea for his peace of mind.

***

A long row of cabinets and a commercial sink lined one wall of the kitchen with a window of the view just offset from the sink.

Shame. A kitchen sink should have a window if at all possible.

Since the plumbing wouldn't have to be extended too far, sliding the sink over a few feet wouldn't cost much and would add a valuable view for anyone having to wash dishes. A weight-bearing wall into the next room proved they'd best make an archway from one room to the next instead of removing the wall altogether, and one large closet and one small one would be perfect to open into each other to increase the size of the pantry.

He pulled his hammer from his ever-present backpack and nudged some of the baseboard loose. Time, some paint, and decades of dirt caused the board to stick, but he worked at it until he could carefully slide the baseboard from the wall opposite the cabinets. The wall seemed in good shape. Age-worn, but nothing significant. So he kept working, taking his time removing a few more pieces.

"It seems you're doing much more than taking a look."

Luke glanced up to find Ms.St.Clare inside the kitchen. She nudged a piece of discarded baseboard with her foot. "Do you always carry a hammer with you?"

He stood from his crouched position, measuring her statement. Was she attempting to joke with him? "Actually, I have two."

Her smile flashed for the faintest second, as if she hadn't meant for it to, and then her expression returned to neutral. "You're not meant to work until Monday."

"Just checking a few things. So far the walls are in good shape, except for a few spots where I'd already noticed some slight water damage." He gestured toward the two closets with his hammer. "If we opened those two closets into each other, they'd make a good-sized pantry, which is one of the items on the list of improvements."

He directed the conversation into safe territory. Work.

"It's amazing how much you've already removed in such a small span of time."

"It's always easier and faster to break things." He shrugged a shoulder. "Much harder and longer to rebuild them."

Her gaze caught in his, her entire expression falling. Even her eyes seemed to go darker. A frown puckered her brow. "Painfully true words, Mr.Edgewood."

His chest tightened as she stared at him, and he had the sudden urge to hug her. Though she didn't seem the huggy sort. He cleared his throat and searched for words. "If you don't mind, since we'll be working together, I'd rather you call me Luke."

Evidently the words worked, because her lips shifted a hair upward and out of that sad, "help me" sort of look. "Then you should call me Ellie."

She didn't look like an Ellie. For some reason the name seemed too short or simple for her. Luke mentally slapped himself at the ridiculous notion. And what did it matter anyway? Ellie was a fine name. Rolled off the tongue easily enough.

She pulled her gaze from his.

Was she trying to figure out if his name fit him? It did. Concise. To the point. His mama told him once that the name meant "light-giving," which he never shared with anyone because the meaning sounded like it fit Penelope more than him. But there was something... nice about the sentiment. Bringing light to folks.

"I see Mrs.Kershaw has already emptied out everything from the cupboards."

"The closets too." He gestured against the door with the hammer. Had he always talked with his hammer? And why was he suddenly noticing it now? Being in a different country brought out all sorts of weird things.

"She's keen to have a new kitchen. It's been a dream for a long time, but the last few years other projects took priority, like updating the plumbing and wiring." Her focus zeroed in on the two closets and she proceeded to walk over to them, examining their positions. "Yes, this would add a great deal of space for storage."

"And you already know what cabinets and updated appliances you want?"

She nodded, peering into the smallest closet. "Mrs.Kershaw and I have those ordered and I'll email you the specifics to help with your planning. There are no lights in these closets either." She cast a look over her shoulder as she stepped inside. "I don't think I added that to our list."

Luke took a few steps closer. She'd worn simple navy slacks and a white dress shirt today. A little more approachable than the suits, but still clearly a physical reminder of their differences. High-class. Country grown?

Keep your head down, boy!

"It's on the estimate. Any sizable pantry needs good lighting."

She sent him a brief smile and then turned on her phone flashlight, stepping farther into the closet.

What on earth was she doing?

"Are you looking for something in particular?" He waited at the threshold of the door. The closet was easily five feet by five feet, but it was still too small for him to enter with her.

Well, not literally, but... in all other ways.

"Mrs.Kershaw told me that this particular closet has some preserved signatures of children from the World WarII era." Her words came muffled from inside the shadowed closet. "They're not visible when the closets are full, but with them empty, I thought I'd try to find them."

The lilt in her voice, the childlike curiosity, pulled him another step.

"Oh yes! They're here."

He barely recognized her voice at this point. Gone was the distant, controlled woman. She still seemed pretty prim and proper, but something had shifted in her personality, and it was more than just going from Ms.St.Clare to Ellie. He'd even noticed it when they met an hour earlier. Could it have something to do with trusting him?

Curiosity drew him, like a loon, around the doorframe. The sweet scent of oranges and flowers almost had him hightailing it right back out of the space.

Oranges never smelled so distracting before.

He gave his head a strong shake. As soon as he got back to the cabin, he was watching Rambo. These "sweet" references in his mind had to go.

She looked back at him as he entered, a broad smile his unexpected greeting. "Look there. These are the reasons preserving this place is so important."

Dozens of names marked the old wooden, paneled wall at the back of the closet. Different handwriting. Some sharp, others curved. Dates like April1940, September1941. The earliest he could see from his cursory view was November1939. Almost a century ago.

"Malcolm Ferguson was an orphan himself before he worked his way in trade to become one of the wealthiest men in Scotland." Her finger slid across one of the names and she dropped to her knees, the light from her phone following her movements. "He met and married a woman from Crieff and built here. When he lost two of his three sons in the Great War, he and his wife left Skymar, taking their remaining son with them back to Scotland, but as he left, he donated Cambric Hall to the royal family in hopes of it being used to care for the many orphans of Skymar." She looked up at him from her crouched position, her eyes glowing from the flashlight... or the story. "It's one of the reasons I requested this appointment." She turned back to the names, her voice lowering. "It seemed a good place to find hope."

He ignored the sudden softening around his heart and stepped back. Within twenty-four hours, she'd gone from being Cruella de Snarl to an... interesting anomaly. Snarky with tenderness underneath. Reminded him a little of Princess Leia and Han Solo's first few meetings. That was definitely an enemies-to—

He halted his thoughts right there. How on earth was Penelope sneaking into his brain, even ruining one of his favorite classic movies with her crazy, heart-eyed romance talk?

And the last thing he needed to do was focus on any "broken" parts of Ellie St.Clare. The fixer inside him was already having a Rambo-style war with his rational don't-get-involved side.

So he just stayed quiet and took another step back.

"I wonder why they would cover the bottom part of some of the names by placing this board here?"

Her words brought his focus back to the nice, predictable wall. Near the bottom, a wood piece, several inches thicker than regular baseboard, cut off a few of the names.

Had someone tried to cover a damaged part of the wall? Could it have been from a previous renovation?

He frowned. That wouldn't make sense, since the wall was clearly still original to the house. But Luke hadn't noticed any other such renovations. And it wasn't a particularly professional job.

"Is it loose at all?"

Ellie gave the wood piece a tug. "It moves a little and I think, well, it's covering something." Then she turned, looked up at him, and plucked his hammer right out of his fingers. "Thank you," she added, with a crooked grin, before pressing her phone into his empty hand. "Would you mind directing the light for me?"

And there he stood, hand in the air like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, or maybe he was more like the Scarecrow, because his brain went completely blank. She'd just taken his hammer right out of his hand. No hesitation. His hammer. He looked down at his palm where the pale blue mobile phone sat in its place.

Then... she worked the hammer like she knew how.

Ms.Perfume-Coffee held the tool in her hand with familiarity and hooked the claw to the edge of the wooden slab without a hitch. With a push to leverage the claw deeper between the wood and wall, the board separated a little from its hold.

"Something is definitely down here." Her volume rose with excitement and his mind still didn't know what to do with the change.

If his brain hadn't been muddled, he'd have responded more quickly, but before Luke could warn her about the possible somethings hiding in dark, cold places in old houses, she gave the hammer another twist. The wood popped loose and, immediately, two things happened at once.

Ellie screamed.

And then her arms flew up as she jumped back and the hammer hit Luke square in the eye.

Well, thankfully, his cheekbone and forehead caught most of the impact.

And the claw wasn't pointed in his direction. Just one of the flat sides.

He grunted and stumbled back, reaching for his head, but only succeeded in hitting it with the phone he still held. Ellie half-turned and fell into him, slamming into his chest as his back hit the opposite wall. His free arm came around her to keep her from toppling over, which meant they both slid together, her head in his neck, all the way down into a seated position... with her on his lap.

Everything stopped for a second, and then his formerly muddled brain shot into overactive mode. She distracted any pain in his face. Her scent surrounding him. The softness of her body against his. The tickle of her hair brushing his neck.

And then she buried a little deeper against him, her fingers clutching his flannel shirt, and Luke wondered, for a second, if maybe he had stepped into one of Penelope's movies... complete with orange petals invading his senses.

Then Ellie's grip tightened on his shirt and she sat upright, her face mere inches away. He'd heard some sappy statement at one time or other about a man falling into a woman's eyes, and had dismissed the idea as something a person like his sister would write... but at that moment, he understood. Maybe it was the head wound or the way the light from her phone shone at just the right angle to reveal a glimmer within the blue, but for a split second, he forgot how to move his eyeballs.

She didn't release him from his fall immediately. Only stared. Wide eyes so mesmerizing, he didn't just fall but practically jumped right back into their depths.

Maybe she'd fallen in too, but that didn't sound right. Women didn't fall into men's eyes, did they? Seemed men proved the clumsy ones in that case.

And... he gave himself another mental slap.

"There... there's something brown and furry down there," she whispered, a shiver moving through her into him.

His palm instinctively tightened on her back.

And then she seemed to realize their intimate position, because she pushed off him but didn't go far. Twisting into a seated position beside him, she pressed her back into the corner of the wall farthest from the hole. With an audible swallow, she gestured with his hammer toward the partially revealed space on the other side. "The... the brown something... was not small."

Deep in the recesses of his foggy brain, his sense of humor emerged, and he bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning. Life had afforded him a lot of construction experiences, but this was new.

"It's not funny." She raised the hammer like a pointy finger.

"Not one bit."

The tension in her lips loosed ever so slightly from what he could see in the dimness. "I'm serious."

"Very," he said, nodding.

Those eyes narrowed as if in warning, so before she could fire back some retort, Luke braced his palm against the wall and struggled to a stand, the pulsing in his face confirming swelling.

Well, that was likely the reason he'd fallen into her eyes. A head wound. Plain and simple.

He slid his fingers gently against his head, then cheek, as he stepped across the small space. At least he didn't feel the sticky warmth of blood. One bonus. Of course, part of his cheekbone was numb, so he may not have felt it anyway.

"There's a good chance that if it didn't run away from the noise you made moving the board, it's not alive."

She whimpered in response.

His guess was that it wasn't a sad whimper.

But instead of a dead animal smell, all that filled his lungs were oranges and flowers. He pinched his eyes closed, then winced at the slight sting in the wounded side, and turned her phone so the light shone toward the hole. The board still partially covered the spot, so Luke gave the board a poke with his foot.

"What do you see?" Ellie peeked around his shoulder, keeping him as a shield from the dangerous something.

His lips twitched again, but he wrangled them into submission. "Not sure." He began to lower to his knees to peer down into the hole, but she caught his arm.

"What are you doing?"

He turned just enough to see her in his periphery. "Believe me, Ellie, I've seen a whole lot worse than what's down there, so just stay behind me and we'll figure this out."

And she did as she was told. Which almost brought a smile to his face, if the motion hadn't hurt his cheek so much. He kneeled. She followed along with him.

The pain might have been worth that grin.

As he shone the light down into the space, Ellie gasped, her hands tightening their hold around his arm. And for some reason, he felt like he could take on an entire alligator if it jumped out of that hole just to show her how strong those arms were.

He coughed to hide his laugh. He was crazy. And might have a teensy bit of a concussion.

Or at least he could blame all these ridiculous thoughts on the hammer. Which made him feel a whole lot better than blaming them on any alternative reason.

The light hit something brown and misshapen. But it didn't look like an animal.

He reached his hand down into the hole.

Ellie's fingers dug into his arm as he touched something soft and clothlike with a firm center. The grin started to emerge again, along with a rascally thought. He fisted the cloth in his hand and, despite the voice in his head sending off warning shouts, released a pained cry.

Ellie screamed in response. "Oh no! Did it bite you? Give me my phone. I'll call emergency. Luke!"

He lost control of his grin, despite the pain, and started laughing, holding whatever he brought up with him at his side.

In the faint light, Ellie's features transformed from terror to confusion and then... hardened into pure fury.

"How... how dare you!" She slapped his shoulder.

"Just getting even."

"Getting even?" Those eyes now narrowed to blue slits. "What on earth do you mean?"

He gestured with her phone to his face. "You nearly took out my eye with that hammer."

Her expression slowly unraveled. "I... what?" And with only a slight hesitation, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the light of the kitchen.

He blinked and his left eye didn't open quite as quickly as it should.

Yep. Swollen.

"Oh my word." She studied his face, her bottom lip dropping into a pout. "I'm so sorry, Luke. I had no idea."

"It's not the first time I've been hurt on the job." He tried to grin again.

She winced. "But a first by me." She raised a palm. "Ice. Let me get ice."

Ellie rushed to one of the two remaining appliances—the refrigerator—and dug through a bottom freezer, slowly pulling out a handful of ice. "Here. Put this on it."

He would have complied, but one hand gripped her phone and the other held whatever he'd pulled from the hole. As if suddenly aware, he raised the item into the light.

"It's a leather bag?"

Luke squeezed the bag, feeling the firm contents. Box-shaped?

He offered the phone to Ellie, who placed the hammer on the counter and slid her phone into her pocket, ice still in one hand.

With the bag between them, he carefully tugged at the drawstring and drew out... a book?

Ellie stepped closer and slid a slender finger over the leather cover. "A book?"

She gently opened the cover, a gasp puffing from her lips. She looked up at him. "It's a journal." She pointed down at the writing on the inside cover for him to see. Or at least, see with his good eye. "Blair MacKee, 1918." Ellie gave her head a shake, bringing more of the scent of oranges toward him. "Could it really have been under there all this time? Decades?"

Luke tried to peer down at the pages, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to see out of his left eye as the swelling continued. "Over a century."

"Remarkable." Her attention flitted to his swollen eye. "I'm so sorry. Your poor eye." She raised a cube to his cheek and he flinched at the shock of cold and sting. She grimaced. "I imagine this makes you even more excited to have me work with you."

A soft laugh slipped through his grin. "At least you've given me fair warning."

Her smile dawned slowly, like it had to work out the kinks. And despite how ridiculous the thought was, he liked that he'd somehow made that smile bloom. Even if only for a moment.

Daggone it.

"Oh, pardon me."

Luke and Ellie turned to find Mrs.Kershaw standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her gaze shifting from him to Ellie to Ellie's hand on his cheek and back again.

Heat traveled into Luke's face and likely started melting the ice at record speed.

"Mrs.Kershaw, you've arrived at the perfect time." Ellie looked away from him, her expression moving back into the well-controlled category. "We're in need of more ice."

"What happened?" The woman rushed forward, examining Luke's face.

"A building accident," Luke offered. "Nothing that a few pieces of ice and a pain reliever or two won't fix."

Almost imperceptibly, Ellie slid the journal from Luke's hand behind her back. "He's being too generous, Mrs.Kershaw. I'm the one who accidentally hit him with the hammer when I thought we discovered a dead animal under the floor in the closet."

The older woman's eyes grew wide, and she pressed a palm to her chest.

"It was just this leather bag, Mrs. Kershaw," Luke explained to keep the woman's eyes from growing any wider.

"But we did see the old signatures on the wall."

Mrs.Kershaw's face relaxed into a smile. "Aren't they lovely? Such a part of the history here." She turned her pale eyes on Luke. "You won't destroy them in the renovations, will you?"

"No, ma'am. We'll find some way to keep what we can of them."

"Very good." Mrs.Kershaw waved for him to come closer. "Now, let's see to your eye before it swells to a close."

Luke looked back at Ellie, who offered a tight smile, one hand still keeping the journal behind her back. Those eyes implored his silence, his mutual camaraderie.

And Luke realized something.

When Penelope mentioned forced proximity, he had no idea it included a small closet, a secret one-hundred-year-old journal, and the tactile memory of an off-limits Skymarian in his arms.