“It’s yours, Son. And it’s not just a house, it’s your history, and generations of family. You’re making it your home. I can see pieces of you all around. Not just the library, though that’s all you now. You don’t love it just because it’s amazing, and it is. You love it because it’s you.”
“I’m a big old house on the coast of Maine?”
“Not the location necessarily, but yeah, the rest. You always wanted this.” Lifting a finger, Cleo ticked it in the air. “I’m not wrong there.”
“I did. It feels sort of strange to know I did want this.”
“When that asshole whose name I won’t speak unless it’s in a curse wanted to look at houses, you wanted something just like this. Smaller scale, for sure, but a house with history, with character, with quirks. All he wanted was a big fancy box with status symbol all over it.”
“You’re right about that.”
“I’m here until Monday morning.” Settling back, Cleo toasted both of them. “I know your mom’s coming up in a few weeks. And I’ll come up again. Trust me on that because I miss you. Plus, I love this place, too.”
“You could stay.”
“I’ve got a meeting Monday afternoon, so—”
“No, I mean stay-stay. Move in.”
Cleo’s topaz eyes widened. “Move in … here?”
“Why not? You can work anywhere, just like me. It’s only three hours to Boston to have meetings if you can’t do it by remote. Your family can come and stay anytime. At all. You can have that bedroom. Or you could take the apartment if you want more space.”
The words tumbled out in a rush.
“You know we can live together. We did it for four years in college. And it’s such a big house. We could go days without seeing each other if we wanted to.”
“Well, holy shit, Sonya.” More than stunned, Cleo pushed a hand through her hair. “And here comes another wow.”
“You could think about it, couldn’t you? Just think about it. The village—it’s not Boston by any stretch, but it’s charming, and there are some restaurants, some shops. Have some more wine,” Sonya said, almost desperately now, “and just think about it.”
“You’re serious about this?”
“I’m serious.”
And wanted it more than she’d let herself admit.
“You fell for Collin’s studio during the video tour, and when we just walked through again. It’s yours. Or you could set up anyplace you want, but you know you could work there. And have the space and the time to paint more. You really only paint in the summer now, outside, because your apartment doesn’t have the light or space. You’d have it here.”
Eyes narrowed, Cleo pointed a finger. “You’re playing dirty with that turret space.”
“It’s made for you. You have to at least think about it.”
“It’s hard to think of anything else right now.”
“Good. That’s good.” Bracing herself, Sonya took a long sip of wine. “Because I need to tell you either I’m having some sort of a breakdown, I’ve got a brain tumor, or the manor’s haunted.”
Cleo said nothing for a moment, then picked up her own glass. “Those are words I never expected to hear coming out of my most sensible friend.”
“I know. I know. But—”
Cleo held up a hand. “You’re not having a breakdown, you don’t have a damn brain tumor. And of course the manor’s haunted.”
“I don’t know how to…” As she stared, Sonya’s breath hitched in, hitched out.
“How do you know it’s haunted? They haven’t done anything since you’ve been here.”
“Well, Jesus, Son, because they’re here. Because I felt them the minute I walked in. At least one of my wows was for them.” Cleo angled her head.
“What do they do?”
“They—they—God, I can’t sit down.” She pushed up, paced around the plants. “They open doors, shut them. Move things. Music starts playing on my iPad. Sometimes they open all the kitchen cabinets. They clean out the wood-burning fireplaces and set the logs—I think they bring logs in, too. They make up my bed in the morning, and turn it down at night.”
“Do you thank them?”
Sonya goggled. “Thank them?”
“If someone made up my bed and turned it down for me, I’d thank them.”