Better Homes and Hauntings (20 page)

“First question: Who keeps five blank notebooks in their shoulder bag?” Jake asked as Dotty threw one at his head. “And second: We’re just going to stumble through our days here waiting to get another glimpse of the possibly-not-real or, even better, get knocked down the stairs?”

“The physical interactions are an illusion,” Dotty said, sounding incredibly self-assured for someone discussing ghostly assaults. “The apparitions can’t really hurt us. Psychic energy can’t interact with the physical plane. We may see it, we may feel it, but it’s not real.”

“Feels awfully real,” Cindy murmured.

“Just remember to stay calm,” Dotty told her. “Fear can cloud your judgment, amp what you’re seeing and feeling. Focus on what you know is real. And if it goes too far, just tell the apparition, ‘I don’t welcome your energy. I banish you from my space.’ ”

DEACON RAISED HIS
hand, as if he was about to launch into a list of reasons why this was an asinine suggestion, but Nina caught his wrist and pressed his
hand to the table, shaking her head. He felt as if he’d been stunned by one of Dotty’s possibly illegal Tasers, a warm, electric tingle that traveled up his arm and lodged in his chest. Nina’s hand didn’t move from his, holding it steadily as she laughed at his space-cadet cousin’s ghost-busting advice and Jake’s inevitable facial contortions. Deacon could feel his heart rate slow. He could actually sense the serotonin levels in his brain increase, giving him a sense of well-being and calm.

How did she do that? How did she make him feel better by simply touching his arm? He stared at her, watching the light from the refurbished ring fixture dance in her hair. Deacon’s brain hadn’t been calm since he’d discovered online gaming and Mountain Dew. He’d thrived on stress and caffeine for ten years. Hell, he needed his brain to fire on all cylinders.

Nina was dangerous, the ultimate unknown quantity. Anyone who could alternately make him murderous and blissed-out in a twelve-hour span was not someone with whom he should spend a lot of time.

And yet . . .

If he’d learned anything since “coming into money,” it was that time was the most valuable commodity on earth. There was a limitless supply, but everybody had a finite amount assigned to him or her. And how you chose to spend that assigned amount defined your entire existence. If he could spend what time he had with Nina, feeling this strange, still serenity, he would consider that worthwhile. Of course, being able to kiss her again would be nice, too. Even if it did end in a very expensive lawsuit and/or eventual divorce.

“And yets” were a total pain in the ass.

“Hey, at least you’re seeing something. I’m still sort of bummed that I haven’t had an experience yet,” Dotty said, nudging Cindy’s ribs.

“Maybe you’re too open to it,” Jake suggested. “Maybe ghosts can smell desperation on you. Like single men and student-loan officers.”

Dotty chucked an orange at him.

“Stop throwing things at my head!” Jake exclaimed.

JAKE KNEW THAT
a gentleman would probably take Cindy’s rejection at face value and give up. But Jake couldn’t stand the idea that she didn’t like him. Something about her compelled him to prove that he was a good guy. Although he would have to do it without tampering with Nina’s flowers again, because she seemed pretty serious about that mini-rake thing.

So here he was, seeking out Cindy to surprise her with what he considered his most brilliant romantic gesture yet, something that would entice her into agreeing to a genuine date, one that would involve actually leaving the island and spending some time in the real world. He found her supervising her cleaning crew as they meticulously cleaned out a storage closet on the second floor in the master wing. He was surprised that she would go anywhere near this part of the house after her experience on the stairs. But then again, Cindy was
too obstinate to give up, even when it could put her in danger. He tried to find that charming, but mostly, he was just annoyed that she would venture up there on her own just to spite the house.

“Jake,” she said, with her usual amount of warmth toward him, which meant little to none.

“Hey, Cindy, I want to show you something,” Jake told her.

“If this is about the satyr murals in the men’s steam room, trust me, I’m aware,” Cindy groused, dusting her hands off on her pants.

“No, come on.”

Pulling her to her feet, he led her into the grand ballroom. It hardly resembled the grimy, decayed mess they’d walked into weeks before. The walls were spotless, scrubbed down to the plaster. The windows shone, even in the full glare of the midday sun. The floor had been ruthlessly swept and polished to a glossy shine. Her crews had worked with Anthony’s to create the best possible strategy for restoring the floor. There was buffing, lots and lots of buffing. This was the first time Cindy had seen the whole picture.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed, turning in a circle so she could take in the full effect. “I’m sorry we got into such a fuss over it. I just get so focused on my goals and timelines that occasionally I get tunnel vision. Also, you drive me
nuts
sometimes.”

Jake rolled his eyes heavenward. “It was almost a nice apology. You were so close.”

Cindy blushed. “Well, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t shared this with me.”

“You really get a lot out of your work, don’t you?”

Cindy was flushed with pride. “This is why I was hired. This is the sort of difference I love seeing in a home when I work. This house, for all its history and historical complexity, will be a better place after I leave it. And that means something to me.”

“Hold on, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Jake yanked on a rope, and several heavy canvas drapes dropped from the ceiling, puddling on the floor with a soft
whump.
Cindy covered her mouth with her hands, gasping as golden, ethereal light flooded the room. The ballroom ceiling was made up of massive stained-glass panels. The repeating Venetian floral patterns in their jewel tones created a garden effect that was both dizzying and beautiful, leading to a dome that featured several alternating floral motifs.

“In case you’re interested, that’s Tiffany glass,” he said. “Mrs. Whitney happened to be a friend of Louis Comfort Tiffany, so old Louis was happy to doodle her a little design for the dome and windows. We only had to replace a few panels, which is sort of remarkable given the time that’s passed.”

“It’s a shame that you lose this effect at night.” She sighed, rubbing her arms. It was lovely to have goose bumps for a positive reason for once. “It would have been such a beautiful setting for a fancy midnight ball.”

“Actually, Mrs. Whitney thought of that,” Jake said. “She had Jack Donovan install curved mobile metal panels around the exterior of the dome, and gaslights would shine through the stained glass at night, giving it this really cool, sunlit glow.”

“Will you be able to do the same?” she asked.

“We install new gas lines in the morning. We’re even
backlighting the ceiling panels to give them the same effect. This is the one room in the house where Regina showed some sense in her design. She’s keeping the walls stark white, bringing in a little warmth with the color of the flooring, but the main color element in the room will be the windows. But before she could put her ‘signature touch’ on the space, Deacon and I were able to convince her that whiting out the stained glass would be a violation of the National Historic Mansion Registry’s rules on antique windows.”

“Is there such a thing as the National Historic Mansion Registry?”

He shook his head. “Nope. And they definitely don’t have rules about antique windows.”

She snickered. “Very clever.”

“Now.” He bowed over her hand, making her wish that she’d washed up before entering this cathedral-like space. “May I have this dance, milady?”

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling her hand out of his grip, although she did it without her usual vehemence.

“You told me that I could have one date with you, but we had to stay on the island. So I’m taking you dancing—dancing. Ah! Knew I forgot something!” He jogged over to a heavy shrouded chair. If he had a violinist hidden under that tarp, Cindy would be deeply concerned. Instead, he pulled out an MP3 player and a docking station, cueing up a lilting, woodwind-heavy waltz.

“You couldn’t have warned me about this quote-unquote date so I could clean up a little?” she asked sourly, glancing down at her dusty T-shirt and jeans.

“I was afraid you would find some reason to back out if I told you ahead of time,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

A flash of guilt tugged at Cindy’s chest. She hadn’t been very nice to Jake. OK, sure, he’d been a jerk to her. But name one college-age boy who didn’t go through a jerk phase. It wasn’t like her to hold grudges. And it was beneath her to continually treat this man with contempt and an oversensitive, fault-finding eye.

She couldn’t fault Jake for being unpleasant, really. In fact, other than their argument about the memorabilia room—which she was willing to admit she’d provoked on purpose because it amused her to see him wring his hands through his hair—he’d been pretty sweet. He was funny and kind and considerate, particularly of Nina, whom he seemed to have adopted like a kid sister or a stray kitten. If he was a blue-collar guy who worked down at the marina, she probably would have agreed to move in with him immediately and have a dozen of his beautiful blue-eyed babies. She supposed this was a shameful example of reverse classism, and she would take the time to feel bad about it at a later date.

“Look, it can’t be a proper ballroom until Cinderella dances here. You’re doing Deacon a favor. So may I have this dance, miss?”

Cindy nodded, curtsying the way she’d seen Keira Knightley do in that Jane Austen movie. Jake beamed and slid his arms around her waist, holding his hand at an angle so she could slip hers over his. His left hand remained at a completely respectful area near her waist. He stepped forward, leading her into a simple box step
that eventually circulated into the waltz. He wasn’t even counting under his breath.

“You took lessons for this, didn’t you?” she asked, her snicker barely held in check.

Jake grimaced. “Might have, when I was a kid. My mom insisted that if I was going to play baseball or soccer, she wanted me to dance, too. She said it made me a well-rounded person. But then, when I was seventeen or so, I figured out that she just didn’t want to be left without a partner at weddings or parties when my dad was off in the den drinking with the other masters of the universe.”

Cindy frowned. She remembered Jake making a few comments about his parents on their first date. They’d talked about their families, and Jake had said his “hadn’t spent enough time with him to be worth mentioning,” then asked her another question about her beloved father.

They hadn’t danced on that first date. And now Cindy regretted it. Jake moved smoothly, without being conscious about it. She tried to remember any time she’d seemed that comfortable in her skin and came up short. Nor could she remember the last time a man had bothered leading her in a dance that involved steps and not just grinding up on her or doing the standard “stand and sway.”

She tried not to let it go to her head. The colors, the beautiful lush light, the smell and feel of the man in her arms. She had to keep herself grounded, remind herself why a real relationship between the two of them would never work out—like aversion therapy, only with skanky interior designers.

As they completed a circuit around the dance floor, Cindy peered up at Jake through her lashes and asked, “So, Regina, huh?”

“Let’s not talk about that,” he said. “That is definitely not good first-date conversation.”

“If you want there to be a second date, I’d like to know where that stands.”

“That was a long time ago,” he assured her, his face flushed. “Regina’s parents are friends with mine. We were thrown together a lot when we were kids.”

“So she’s not your type?” Cindy asked.

Jake smiled at her, somehow brightening the room even more. “Until recently, I was into women who were really driven, career-oriented. But now I’ve come to realize that I want something different. I want you.”

Cindy’s brow furrowed while she contemplated what the hell he meant by that. “So I’m not driven?”

He grinned at her. “No, you’re happy with where you are. That’s not a bad thing!”

She skidded to a halt, mindful of not leaving shoe marks on the gleaming floor. “Well, since I’ve settled into my place right here, why don’t you go back to your friend Regina? She’s made it pretty clear that she’s ready to take you or Deacon on as fixer-uppers.”

Jake frowned, not quite understanding why this conversation seemed to be rolling downhill so quickly. “I don’t want Regina. She’s just like every other girl I’ve ever dated. All polish and prospects. No fun. You’re together. You know what you want, but you don’t let it get in the way of having a good time. You don’t let worrying about success or money drag you down. You don’t have your whole life planned out.”