“Smoke detectors are legally required in all rental properties,” he said. “And clearly necessary if I don’t want my tenant to burn the place down.” He swiped the poker from the fireplace and spun it in his hand, then stretched onto his toes and pressed the handle against the reset button on the alarm.
I didn’t imagine climbing him.
The home fell silent.
Davis returned the poker to the hearth, then went to the kitchen and washed his hands. “I’ve got to tell you,” he said over his shoulderas he lathered and rinsed, “there are a lot of more modern, comfortable, inns where you could stay long term. A weekend at Hearthstone is an experience. Six weeks will be rough. There’s no Wi-Fi, and cell service cuts out about halfway up the lane. The televisions have terrible reception, and the DVD library is stocked with scratched discs from when we were in middle school. The fireplace in the large room across from the bathroom has a history of bats in the chimney, so you can’t use it. And those are just a few of the reasons this place needs a complete overhaul.”
“You help Grace with this place?” I asked, circling back to the detail I was still processing, while forcefully ignoring the bat comment. I had planned to sleep in that room tonight. He didn’t seem thrilled to have me here, but she had been overjoyed. I wanted to stay, but I didn’t want to cause a problem between them, so I needed more information.
“Something like that.” He turned to rest his backside against the sink as he dried his hands on a small white linen towel. “I can help you find a place better suited to a lengthy stay. I know everyone around here.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m doing something that makes this place kind of perfect. I’m not ready to give up over a little smoke. Plus I told Grace I’d stay.”
He frowned. “Grace isn’t the one who has to come out here and fix everything that fails, breaks, or doesn’t go right for you over the next six weeks.”
I felt my mouth open in shock, and I snapped it shut.
I should’ve known anyone with a face like his would have the personality of a curmudgeon. I supposed it helped my cause. I didn’t want to be attracted to him, so the reveal of his true colors worked in my favor. If Cecily were here, I’d say, “He’s a ten with the personality of those old-man balcony hecklers from the Muppets.” And she’d say, “He’s a two.”
“Old homes can be quirky,” Davis said, moving back toward the sitting-room fireplace, “and a cold snap is supposed move in this week. I’ll get a fire going before I leave.”
I turned on my heels and followed him.
He crouched before the hearth, and I watched closely as he prepared, then lit the fire. Part of me hoped it would go out.
My traitorous gaze traveled to his backside, and a sudden, mischievous thought registered. If the house needed as much work as he implied, I could be seeing a lot of Davis in the weeks to come.
“Emma?” he asked, pulling my eyes to his.
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you wanted to clean up while I make my rounds and get everything running for you. I’ll take a look at the furnace and stove while I’m here. Check the pilot lights and your water pressure.”
I bit my lip, eager to change clothes and remove the ash from my face. “I’ll be right back.”
I hustled up the steps and flipped on the bathroom light, regretting it immediately. My eyes were red from the smoke and a crying jag. My cheeks were covered in soot, minus the faint tear tracks.
I cranked the metal cross knobs on the sink, their porcelain inlays declaringHandC, for hot and cold. Then gasped when I splashed the icy water on my face. Hopefully it would warm as it ran. I pumped soap onto my palms and scrubbed it over my skin, effectively soaking the front of my dirty shirt in the process.
“Everything okay?” Davis called from the bottom of the steps. “I thought I heard you scream.”
“Cold water,” I said, projecting my voice toward the stairs. “I’m fine. Almost done.”
I rinsed my face with another splash of icy water, then darted into my room and swapped the wet sweatshirt for the first dry top I saw and beetled back to the first floor.
Davis was in the kitchen. He turned with a jolt, hands stuffed into his pockets.
“Earlier,” I said, stuck on something from the previous conversation, “you said you know everyone around here. You can’t mean in all of Amherst.” Could he? The town had five colleges and dozens of small businesses, not to mention all the year-round residents.
He shrugged, lips downturned. “My dad is deeply involved in the community. You’ll find his fingerprints everywhere if you stick around.”
I matched his sour expression. I was absolutely staying.
His eyes dropped to my shirt. “Prose before bros.” Dark brows crowded above his eyes.
I looked down at the text and familiar female silhouette on my torso. “It’s Emily Dickinson. I’m a big fan.”
Davis’s mouth opened, and a small dry laugh escaped. A complement to his defeated expression.
