Page 14 of Love Songs (Harmony Lake #3)

“Why was it left abandoned for so long?” I asked as we climbed the steps and onto the veranda. The floorboards complained under our weight but held.

“That’s a long story,” Nolan said as he stuck a key into the front door lock and struggled to get it open.

“A railway tycoon originally built as a wedding gift his new wife. Unfortunately, the wife died during childbirth a couple of years later, and the husband was so distraught with the loss that he couldn’t bear to stay here without her. ”

The lock gave and, with a grunt and a bit of shoulder, Nolan pushed the door open. It creaked and groaned from disuse. Going by Nolan’s reluctance to show me the house, I wouldn’t be surprised if I were the first person he’d brought to see it in years.

“He left the country. Went back to Europe,” Nolan continued his retelling of the house’s history as we stepped inside the foyer.

“He eventually sold the home to a millionaire, who owned it for a handful of years before he lost everything when the markets crashed in 1929. The house sat empty until a wealthy widow, Abigail Ferguson, purchased it in the early 1940s. She lived here until she passed and bequeathed the home to her daughter and her family.”

I surveyed the foyer as Nolan spoke. The hardwood floors were beat up and thick with dust and rodent tracks, but hopefully some TLC would bring them back to their original glory.

“They, in turn, lost it to a loan shark because of the husband’s gambling problem, and the shark ended up in prison, where he died,” Nolan continued. “After several years clearing probate, the bank took ownership and has held it since.”

“That’s quite the history,” I said quietly, distracted by the curved wooden staircase with ornate spindles. Broken or missing spindles marred the staircase, while sunlight poured down from and above bleached each tread to a flat gold. Dust motes danced like merry little sprites in the sun’s rays.

Only two feet inside, and the house felt like a welcoming embrace.

“I wouldn’t go up the stairs, if I were you,” Nolan warned. “In fact, we should leave the upstairs until a home inspector can confirm whether they’re safe. This way.”

To the right of the entry, through a wide archway, we entered the living room with high ceilings and the boarded bay windows I’d seen from outside.

I pictured Jaylin there, curled up with a blanket on a window bench, reading a book.

Luckily, the diamond-pane glass was intact, and I couldn’t wait to see the light spill into the room when the boards were gone.

Another wide archway led us into the kitchen and dining area.

“I can’t believe no one has bought this place,” I said, brushing cobwebs away from a drop light over a dust-covered island. I swiped at the island to reveal a granite surface that had seen better days. The space was good, but needed to be gutted and rebuilt from the studs up.

“There’s been the occasional offer,” Nolan said as he opened a door off the kitchen to reveal a large brick patio.

“But they never went further than building inspections, when the potential buyers realized the cost of either restoring the home or tearing it down to build new. Nothing in here is to code anymore.”

“What do you figure it will cost to update?” I asked, following him outside into the warm sunshine.

Nolan stopped and eyed me for a second. “Some would say more than it’s worth.”

I didn’t know about that. I saw something here worth any cost.

Like how the overgrown shrubbery and rose bushes surrounding the patio gave it a relaxing, oasis-like vibe. And how the weeds and grass and dandelions growing between the bricks didn’t detract from the beautiful herringbone pattern we stood on.

A mental movie played alongside everywhere I looked: Jaylin and I baking cookies together in the kitchen.

Jaylin sitting at the island doing her homework while I made us dinner.

Relaxing in the living room in front of the fire on a cold winter’s night with a special someone who looked an awful lot like Conor.

Barbecues with friends on this very patio, sharing drinks and laughter.

Jamming with a band in the garage-turned-studio.

Running to the end of the dock and jumping into the lake. Skinny dipping with Conor.

Whoa . How was it that a man I’d only met a few days ago was taking up so much space in my head?

“What’s that?” I pointed to another falling down building about a hundred yards from the house as we stepped off the patio and walked toward the lake.

“A barn,” Nolan said.

“For horses?”

“At one time, yes.” Nolan nodded. “There’s a fenced acre, but most of the fencing is in disrepair.”

I imagined how excited Jaylin was going to be when I told her there was room for a horse here. I took my new cell phone out of my pocket—that I had priority shipped to the inn after the good lieutenant destroyed my previous one—and opened the video app so I could show her everything later.

“I’ll take it,” I said, amused by the expression of shock on Nolan’s face.

I WINCED AT Jaylin’s high-pitched scream as she jumped up and down in the small screen on my phone.

“I can really have my own horse?”

“Yes.” Warmth flooding my chest at being able to give her so much joy. “You can have a horse. We’ll need to fix the barn and the fences first, but when everything is ready, we can start looking.”

“Can I have Flicker?”

Flicker was the horse she rode at the stables in upstate New York.

“We’ll have to talk to Carolyn about that,” I said with a smile. “But if she says yes . . .”

She squealed again, and the image on my screen spun like a tilt-o-wheel before going still with a close-up view of the carpet in her bedroom. Before I could panic that she’d hurt herself, Jaylin’s face filled the frame again. Her eyes were wide with excitement.

“Sorry. Dropped my phone.” She sat down on the edge of her bed and started bouncing. Rather, she continued bouncing. I didn’t think she’d stopped since I’d shared the news. “When do we move?”

“Not for a while yet,” I said, my mind racing through all the things that needed to be done before then. “First we have to finalize the paperwork to make it official, and then we have a lot of renovations to do before the house is livable again.”

A wave of doubt washed over me, thinking about the overwhelming amount of work that needed to be done. I didn’t know the first thing about renovating, but I knew, deep down in my gut, that this was the right move for us.

We talked for a few more minutes about plans for the house as we watched the walk-thru video I’d taken and found photos online of the house when it had been in better shape. I also had to convince her the house wasn’t haunted, but she seemed more disappointed than relieved. Kids .

I’d just ended my video call with Jaylin, when my phone pinged with an incoming message. I expected it to be Jay, but my heart did a little hop in my chest when I saw the name on the display.

Conor: Hey. Any chance you’re free to meet up tonight ?

Conor: It’s Conor, btw

I chuckled at his second text, and replied right away, because hell yeah, I wanted to meet up .

Me: Sure. How about now? I’m at the inn if you want to meet in the lobby .

Conor: Now is perfect . Be there in ten .

I jumped from the sofa in my suite and checked myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. I was wearing the same clothes as when I’d run into Conor in town earlier and debated whether I should change my shirt.

“It’s not a date,” I mumbled to my reflection, but I swapped out my T-shirt for a burgundy button down with a paisley pattern.

I left the top few buttons open and rolled the sleeves up to my elbows.

Running my fingers through my hair, I debated changing back into a T-shirt, but a glance at my watch told me I didn’t have time.

I hustled downstairs while my heart galloped ahead of me with anticipation.

True to his word, Conor strolled in ten minutes later.

He’d changed out of his station wear and into a pair of well-worn jeans and an old Metallica T-shirt that may or may not have sparked a jolt of jealousy that it wasn’t a Dallas Blade Band shirt but could be forgiven for the way it clung to his muscular chest and biceps.

He carried a bag with a logo I recognized from the Stonebridge Maple Farm, where we’d had our charity date the other day, and wore a grin on his face that made my mouth water.

“Are you just off shift now?” I asked when he stopped in front of me. His grin grew into a blinding smile and the heat from his body set all my senses on fire.

“No.” Conor shook his head. “I had a stop to make on the way.”

We stood there, staring at each other for an extended beat. Me studying him, debating if now was too soon to invite him upstairs, while he studied me with a smolder in his eyes that had me wondering if he was thinking the same thing.

“Have you eaten?” I asked, clearing my throat and breaking the moment. “The lounge kitchen is still open.”

“I ate at the station,” he said, his gaze never leaving mine, but then he blinked, and a light blush colored his cheeks. He motioned to the bag in his hand. “I, uh, have something for you.”

“Let’s go sit.” I waved toward the lounge, curious about what he’d brought.

We sat across from each other in a pair of leather club chairs near an old, floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace.

After placing orders—a ginger tea for me, and a virgin tequila sunrise for him—he slid the bag across the table toward me with a shy sweep of his eyelashes.

He bit at his lower lip. In the short time I’d known him, he’d been nothing but confident and self-assured, so to see him uncertain like this piqued my interest.

“What’s this?” I asked, delighted and touched that he’d brought me a gift. I didn’t care what was in the bag, only that he’d thought of me enough to bring me something special meant more than he could possibly know.