Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
The conversation flows, easy, warm, and I’m having a great time, the kind that makes me forget Meredith, forget my rules, forget everything but him, this moment, this table. There is no Sandy to remind me to keep my head, to enjoy but not expect.
As the night unfolds, as I laugh, I fall a little deeper into this dream I’m not sure I can leave.
Chapter
Forty
HUGH
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PuJEcj5D8Go
-Dance me to the end of love-
As I sit across from Lauren, I am struck by how perfectly she fits in my home, casual yet luminous. The rare old Bordeaux we share flows warmly into my throat, its velvet depth heady, but really, it’s her—her blue eyes, bright with curiosity, her laughter bubbling like a stream that intoxicates me, sets my chest ablaze, urging me to lean closer, and stare at her with amazed eyes.
“The crew working on your cottage is moving fast,” I update her. “They patched the foundation cracks today. Hairline fractures in the old south wall, nothing major, just sealed it to keep the water out, especially with the clay soil holding moisture. The roof’s getting attention too. They’ve replaced the broken slate tiles with dark gray ones to match the originals, and they’re reinforcing the lath underlayment to stop leaks.”
“Wow,” she says, her eyes thoughtful. “You know, I could never have afforded to do any of this,” she confesses.
I shrug. “Then you are a lucky girl. They’re also fixing the plumbing issues. They will swap out the corroded ancient lead pipes that had caused the flooding for new galvanized steel pipes in the kitchen and bathroom. The lath-and-plaster walls in the living room had water damage, so they’re cutting out the bad sections and replacing them with fresh plaster over wire mesh. The structure’s sound, and they just need to complete these touch-ups first so there won’t be any issues further down the line.”
She stares at me with astonishment. “My God! How much is all this going to cost? I can’t let you spend that much money on my cottage. It’s not right.”
“It’s not as much as you think. I have hired these men on an ongoing basis for large projects requiring special skills and ancient techniques that only a few people in Britain still have. The work they are doing for your cottage is nothing in comparison and costs very little.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t believe that. No way does all that work cost very little.”
“Trust me, it does. You should save your money for some new furniture. Like a strong new bed for when I come to visit.”
She blushes prettily, then tilts her head, her fingers tracing the delicate stem of her wine glass, then lifts her big beautiful eyes and says softly, “Thank you, Hugh. No one has ever done anything this amazing for me, but no matter what you say, it does seem too generous. I should, at the very least, contribute towards the costs.”
“Nonsense,” I scoff. “Like I said. The cottage in its present condition was spoiling the look of my land so really, I did it for totally selfish reasons.”
She chews her bottom lip. Quite adorable.
“How long until I can live there? Not finished, but… just functional?” Her voice is soft, practical, and I feel a surge of respect because she’s not lost in dreams—she’s mapping this, claiming it with clear eyes.
“A week for the essentials,” I say, easing back. “Walls sealed, plumbing and wiring done, floors sanded smooth. Another week or two for the finishes—paint, tiles, cabinets. Maybe more, but you’ll steer the look, of course.”
I pull my phone from my pocket. The screen’s glow is stark in the soft light. I scroll to the contractor’s report, and slide it across the table.
“Here’s the timeline. They’re ahead of schedule and they’ll be wrapping up the structural work soon, and shifting to design next. I’m afraid the paint cans you bought are not of a suitable quality, so tomorrow, they’ll send new samples—paint shades and tile patterns. I’ll share their number with you, so you can call or text to tell them exactly what you want.”
Her eyes spark, a flicker of excitement as she takes the phone, her fingers grazing mine, a fleeting touch that jolts me with static electricity.
“Can we see it?” she asks. “I mean, walk over, check what’s changed?”
“Definitely,” I say, setting my glass down, the wine sloshing softly. “Let’s finish dessert and take a walk.”
The apples in the tarte tatin catch the candlelight and glisten as my footmen pour us more wine from dark, heavy bottles. We eat our tarts, our forks clinking, her laughter spilling out as a smear of caramel clings to her lip, and I fight the urge to reach across and taste her sweetness mingled with the dessert’s. Her eyes meet mine, and the moment stretches, the air between us thick with unspoken need, with a quiet promise.