“If it’s a bother?—”
“Of course it’s not, Mum,” I say quickly, searching for some way to explain my hesitation. Evidently she does mean to stay here. “Maths have never been my strong suit, you know. I was counting the beds, but we have plenty, right enough.”
Her smile is wide but hollow. So Granny was right about them sleeping here. Was this the plan all along? Or has something happened to change their minds?
Callie nudges me aside gently, and I glance over to find her crouching on the floor, picking up the large pieces of the broken plate. I should be down there helping her but my brain won’t divide properly. It’s focused on one thing, and that is how to balance my parents with Hamish’s guests.
She puts the pieces in the bin and pulls out the broom.
Mum and Dad take their plates to the table and sit with Hamish. He talks with them while they eat, so they’re properly distracted. It will give me an opportunity to move some things out of the primary bedroom and change the sheets on the bed. It’s been a while since I did counseling sessions about this with Rhona, but she had told me giving my hands something to do was a good idea when I felt myself on the verge of spiraling.
Right now, I’m sitting on the edge of a cliff, peering down in the abyss and trying not to fall.
Callie sweeps the shards into the dustpan and tips them into the bin. She puts the broom away and looks at me with concern. Is this a counselor thing? Do they all have a sixth sense, capable of knowing when a man is barely holding it together?
“I’m going to prepare their room,” I tell her.
“I’ll help.” It’s not an offer, a mere suggestion. She’s telling me.
So when I leave the kitchen, she follows, and I don’t argue. Familiar cases are sitting near the door, which is odd. They carried their things inside before finding out if I had space for them? I peek through the window in the front room and find Grandad’s truck parked in front of the house. They didn’t even drive their campervan here.
“Should we carry these suitcases up for them?” Callie asks, correctly surmising who they belong to.
“Aye, that’ll be grand.” I take the larger of the two, not at all surprised to find it heavy.
Callie picks up the second one and follows me up the stairs. I stop at the bureau that once belonged to my great grandmother,pull out a fresh sheet and duvet, then push open the door to my room.
It took a while after I bought the house before I felt comfortable enough to consider this place my home. I didn’t move out of my childhood bedroom entirely, ever. I just turned it into my office. But I liked the convenience of this room, the size of it, and the attached bathroom. No other room in the house has one.
“This is your room.” Callie drops the case on the floor, looking around.
“It’s the only other bed large enough for them.”
She glances at me. “It was their room once, I’m guessing.”
“Aye.” I take the laundry basket toward my chest of drawers and pull out clothes, things I think I might need over the next week or so. It’s hard to know how long they’ll choose to inhabit this space, but I’m sure I can come back if I don’t take enough, so I’m not overly worried about what I take.
Callie strips the bed and removes the pillow cases. “It smells like you.”
If I wasn’t already looking at my basket and considering what else I’d need, I’d be embarrassed by my reaction, because I certainly don’t hide it well. I school my face into a neutral expression and pick up a pillow case to slide over a pillow. “Like me? What is that?”
“A tree, I think. Cedar or sandalwood or…no, not pine. It’s one of those, and something earthy and warm. I’m not a connoisseur of cologne, so I’m guessing.”
“Neither am I.” My heart is racing. This is something she’s put thought into. Something she has previously noticed, that has enticed her enough to think about it. “That’s probably my soap and aftershave. Hints of amber and sandalwood.”
She grins. “I knew it.”
I lift the fitted sheet and shake it out over the bed. “Didn’t realize you’d been sniffing me, lass.”
“When someone forces you to ride in the car with them repeatedly, you can’t help but smell them. It’s not my fault you over-apply.”
“Would you rather I lathered less?” I hold her gaze.
Her cheeks bloom with color. “That’s not advisable, no.”
“Then you’ll have to put up with the smell a little longer.”
“Rats.” She doesn’t look as disappointed as she’s pretending to be.
