Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“Stay alert,” he cautioned, pushing aside a huge cobweb. “This hovel is bound to be home to small rodents and large spiders.”
Great.
My Jane Austen-esque visions of Deverley didn’t hit the mark. Not even close.
Honestly, it looked like what it was, an abandoned residence with a mish-mash of Tudor, Georgian, and Victorian influences. There was no furniture, no window coverings, just room after dusty room with cracked tiles, worn floorboards, and peeling wallpaper. And mice. After the fifth one skittered across a mantel, I was ready to move on.
We locked up and navigated a muddy path to the summer house or conservatory. It was in slightly better shape in that the windows were intact, but it was just a shell of a structure that probably would have gotten a ton of sunlight if the surrounding trees were pruned. I took photos and jotted a few notes, then followed Graham to the derelict gardens behind the structure lined with moss-covered broken statues and wild hydrangea bushes.
Mother Nature was doing her best to reclaim the land, I mused, tugging at the sleeves of my sweater as I carefully sat on the edge of a stone bench.
“Is this property really worth eleven million pounds?” I asked. “It’s smaller than the online records show.”
Graham sat next to me and stretched his long legs in front of him. “I’m sure the estate includes the surrounding fields and the woods. Eleven million seems steep, but as you know it’s history, land, and lore. This is the type of property best left to English Heritage to sort out. Add that to your notes.”
I nodded lazily. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit this, but I was hoping for more. This place is sad. It needs a historian, a preservationist, and a trustworthy contractor to bring it back to life. It feels more like a dead end than a window to the past. I bet there are ghosts wandering around us this very second thinking the same thing. What a waste.”
He patted my shoulder and chuckled. “That’s an uncharacteristically pessimistic outlook, Mr. Edwards.”
“You must be rubbing off on me. I had high hopes for this place, and it’s just what you said it would be—a greedy grab by a creepy businessman on his way out the door.” I sighed in disappointment, adding, “I’m not sorry about the water bottle incident at all now.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well…” I shot a sheepish look his way and told him about my run-in with Blower in the elevator.
Graham thought it was hysterical.
“God, that’s fucking priceless,” he snorted, smacking his palm on his knee. “You should have emptied the entire thing on his head.”
“I think he would have wrung my neck.”
“Howay, man! Blower’s all bluster. He wouldn’t dare.” He pursed his lips in amusement. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me about running into him sooner.”
I shrugged, tilting my chin to the sky when the sun parted through the clouds. “I don’t want to ruin this weekend, and he’s kind of a buzzkill.”
“Aye, he is. Well, forget Blower and…tell me about these ghosts you think are floatin’ ’round us.” He swiped the air playfully.
I snickered, pointing to a raggedly shrub. “There’s a couple over there, holding hands and watching a child run in circles. And a lord sneaking kisses with a younger man and—oh! He’s unbuttoning his breeches, getting on his knees—”
“Alreet. Tell the ghosts they can keep their pants on,” he grumbled.
“Prude,” I teased. “Fine. They’re just kissing, but they’re madly in love.”
“Are they?”
“Oh, yeah. I bet this was a perfect spot for romance once upon a time.”
Graham rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother.”
“Seriously. This whole section of England is romance central. I can see why. It’s wildly beautiful in a completely natural way.”
“Hmph.”
“Don’t be a love Scrooge,” I chided. “Haven’t you ever been in love?”
The second the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back and press rewind. Nothing scared off a temporary lover faster than the L word. Shit. I had no chill whatsoever and—
“Once.”
I widened my eyes, hiking my leg on the bench between us to fully face him. “Really? Who was he?”
“His name was Tom.”
“Your friend from university.”
Graham nodded. “Aye. It wasn’t love, mind. It was…the joy of mutual discovery rolled up in a ball of friendship and lust. But it was intense at the time, like nothing I’d ever felt.”
“How long were you together?”
“Seven years.”
I blinked in surprise. “Whoa. That’s more than a college fling.”
“I suppose so. He was a good man—charming and silly, but smart too. He’s an author now, and though I haven’t read any of his work, our old mutual friends tell me he has a popular podcast. He’s famous for being very…out.” Graham winced. “We were very much in the closet, so it’s safe to say I was the problem there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? It’s been seventeen years. Tom’s happily married, and I heard he’s a father. I don’t know him anymore. I probably never did, so I’m not sure why I thought it was love. It was just a strong feeling and good sex.”