Page 19
I find myself returning her smile. "All right. If you're sure."
"I am. And I promise the guest bed is comfortable."
"Thanks," I say. "I appreciate it."
Lucy stands, picking up a candle. "I'll show you upstairs. And I think there are extra blankets in the hall closet."
I follow her up the narrow staircase, ducking slightly to avoid the low ceiling. The cottage was built in an era when people were shorter, and at six-foot-two, I'm constantly aware of architectural limitations.
The upstairs hallway is small, with three doors leading off it. Lucy points to each in turn.
"Bathroom, my room, and this one's yours." She opens the last door, revealing a small but tidy room with a double bed,a nightstand, and a simple dresser. "Sorry there's not much furniture yet. I'm still planning to get more once I'm settled."
"It's perfect," I say, and mean it. The room is clean and simple, with no clutter or distractions. Just the kind of space I prefer.
"I'll find those extra blankets," she says, moving toward a closet at the end of the hall.
While she rummages, I take a moment to look around. The hallway walls are lined with framed photographs—not Lucy's, I assume, but left by previous tenants or installed by Mrs. Abernathy. They show Cedar Falls from various eras—the lumber mill in its heyday, Main Street circa 1920, the falls that give the town its name.
One photo catches my eye—a group of men standing in front of a newly constructed building, serious-faced in the way of old photographs. The caption reads: "Founding of Cedar Falls Lumber Co., 1873. L to R: Josiah Abernathy, Elias Mitchell, Harold Carter, Thomas Wilson."
Harold Carter. My great-great-grandfather, if the family stories are to be believed. And beside him, Elias Mitchell. Could that be Lucy's ancestor?
"Found them!" Lucy says triumphantly, emerging from the closet with an armful of blankets. She follows my gaze to the photograph. "Oh, are you looking at the historical photos? Mrs. Abernathy said she put them up to give the place 'a sense of continuity with the past.'" She steps closer to examine the one I'm studying. "Wait, Carter? Is that—"
"My family," I confirm. "And possibly yours too. Mitchell."
She stares at the photo, then at me, her eyes wide. "Our families?"
"Looks that way."
"Our meeting seems… quite a coincidence," she whispers.
But we both know it's more than that. In a town as small as Cedar Falls, with histories as intertwined as ours seem to be, meeting like we did—her car breaking down at the town line, me being the one to help her—feels less like coincidence and more like the continuation of a story that began over a century ago.
"Here," she says, handing me the blankets, breaking the moment. "In case you get cold."
"Thanks." Our fingers brush as I take them, "For everything. The coffee. The conversation."
She smiles, and in the candlelight, her face is soft, open. "Thank you for staying. For helping with my things. For... sharing."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I've shared more with this woman in one evening than I have with anyone in years. It should terrify me, this sudden vulnerability. But strangely, it doesn't.
"Goodnight, Riley," she says, stepping back toward her room.
"Goodnight, Lucy," I reply, watching as she disappears behind her door with a final smile.
Alone in the guest room, I set the candle on the nightstand and sink onto the edge of the bed. The day has been full of surprises, none bigger than finding myself in this cottage with a woman I met less than forty-eight hours ago.
A woman who now knows more about me than people I've known for years.
I should be panicking. Planning my escape. Building back the walls that keep me safe, separate, alone.
Instead, I find myself thinking about that photograph in the hallway. Our ancestors, standing side by side at the founding ofthis town. Whatever drove Lucy's father away, whatever kept our families apart in the intervening years, there was a time when Carters and Mitchells stood together.
Maybe, just maybe, they could again.
Chapter 7 - Lucy
"I am. And I promise the guest bed is comfortable."
"Thanks," I say. "I appreciate it."
Lucy stands, picking up a candle. "I'll show you upstairs. And I think there are extra blankets in the hall closet."
I follow her up the narrow staircase, ducking slightly to avoid the low ceiling. The cottage was built in an era when people were shorter, and at six-foot-two, I'm constantly aware of architectural limitations.
The upstairs hallway is small, with three doors leading off it. Lucy points to each in turn.
"Bathroom, my room, and this one's yours." She opens the last door, revealing a small but tidy room with a double bed,a nightstand, and a simple dresser. "Sorry there's not much furniture yet. I'm still planning to get more once I'm settled."
"It's perfect," I say, and mean it. The room is clean and simple, with no clutter or distractions. Just the kind of space I prefer.
"I'll find those extra blankets," she says, moving toward a closet at the end of the hall.
While she rummages, I take a moment to look around. The hallway walls are lined with framed photographs—not Lucy's, I assume, but left by previous tenants or installed by Mrs. Abernathy. They show Cedar Falls from various eras—the lumber mill in its heyday, Main Street circa 1920, the falls that give the town its name.
One photo catches my eye—a group of men standing in front of a newly constructed building, serious-faced in the way of old photographs. The caption reads: "Founding of Cedar Falls Lumber Co., 1873. L to R: Josiah Abernathy, Elias Mitchell, Harold Carter, Thomas Wilson."
Harold Carter. My great-great-grandfather, if the family stories are to be believed. And beside him, Elias Mitchell. Could that be Lucy's ancestor?
"Found them!" Lucy says triumphantly, emerging from the closet with an armful of blankets. She follows my gaze to the photograph. "Oh, are you looking at the historical photos? Mrs. Abernathy said she put them up to give the place 'a sense of continuity with the past.'" She steps closer to examine the one I'm studying. "Wait, Carter? Is that—"
"My family," I confirm. "And possibly yours too. Mitchell."
She stares at the photo, then at me, her eyes wide. "Our families?"
"Looks that way."
"Our meeting seems… quite a coincidence," she whispers.
But we both know it's more than that. In a town as small as Cedar Falls, with histories as intertwined as ours seem to be, meeting like we did—her car breaking down at the town line, me being the one to help her—feels less like coincidence and more like the continuation of a story that began over a century ago.
"Here," she says, handing me the blankets, breaking the moment. "In case you get cold."
"Thanks." Our fingers brush as I take them, "For everything. The coffee. The conversation."
She smiles, and in the candlelight, her face is soft, open. "Thank you for staying. For helping with my things. For... sharing."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I've shared more with this woman in one evening than I have with anyone in years. It should terrify me, this sudden vulnerability. But strangely, it doesn't.
"Goodnight, Riley," she says, stepping back toward her room.
"Goodnight, Lucy," I reply, watching as she disappears behind her door with a final smile.
Alone in the guest room, I set the candle on the nightstand and sink onto the edge of the bed. The day has been full of surprises, none bigger than finding myself in this cottage with a woman I met less than forty-eight hours ago.
A woman who now knows more about me than people I've known for years.
I should be panicking. Planning my escape. Building back the walls that keep me safe, separate, alone.
Instead, I find myself thinking about that photograph in the hallway. Our ancestors, standing side by side at the founding ofthis town. Whatever drove Lucy's father away, whatever kept our families apart in the intervening years, there was a time when Carters and Mitchells stood together.
Maybe, just maybe, they could again.
Chapter 7 - Lucy