“There’s no wooing,” I assured.
“He’s a hopeless romantic,” she said. “Word around campus is that he married his high school sweetheart.”
“What?” I whipped my head around in search of him. “He’s married?” I whispered.
“No.” Daisy shook her head. “She left him a few years ago.”
“That’s awful.”
“That’s life sometimes,” Daisy said.
I didn’t argue.
Paul joined us at the coffee station, his genuine and easy smile in place. “Hi, Emma, Daisy. What’s up?”
I looked away, ashamed by our gossip.
“We were just talking about what goes into a good letter,” Daisy said.
“If you figure it out, let me know.”
I rocked back on my heels, relieved by his humor. “The process is harder than I expected. There’s so much pressure to say the right thing. To not waste space or words.” Those were my struggles, anyway.
“It helps not to overthink,” Paul said. “Keep it simple and have fun.” He lifted his cup in cheers before taking his leave.
My gaze trailed after him, wondering if I’d ever reach that level of letter-writing confidence. I was pretty sure my current level of Dickinson was two out of ten.
Chapter Fifteen
I woke, freezing, at half past two.
My teeth knocked together, and my muscles were locked. “What on earth?” I swung my legs over the bed’s edge and gathered the comforter around my shoulders.
The little red light on my new space heater was off.
I stood on quaking legs and thick-fuzzy-socked feet, then went to press the power button. Nothing happened.
I moved to the wall and slapped the light switch.
Again, nothing happened.
All the cuss words I knew spilled from my mouth as I struggled to still my chattering teeth.
The power was out. The furnace was off. My new space heater was useless.
And I was probably getting hypothermia.
I fumbled on the nightstand for my phone and accessed the flashlight app; then I scanned the wider space around me. Unexpected panic welled in my chest. I was alone and cold in a home that wasn’t my own. I didn’t know how to fix the problem, and the space heater was likely the cause. I’d probably overloaded the outdated electrical system. Davis was going to be pissed. He’d made it clear he planned to overhaul these things when I left, but I’d insisted on staying, even after he’d offered to help me move. And I’d denied him access to look at the furnace before I went to bed tonight, even after he’d offered to stop by and take a look.
I’d tried to fix another problem on my own and failed. Apparently my hot-water-tank victory was a fluke.
Suddenly all the other failures in my life formed a kick line and danced into my mind, each stomping a little harder on my heart until tears began to brew.
I’d moved to Amherst to escape my constant, habitual search for love, but my ridiculous heart had latched on to someone who ran hot and cold and didn’t want me. I’d planned to embrace the solitude, but instead, I hated it. I loathed the endless silence. I’d wanted to bake cakes, read, and create poetry, but I’d failed and failed. Now I’d wrecked a historic manor’s electrical system. And there wasn’t any way to hide or run from that. I had to face Davis and explain what happened or freeze to death in my denial.
My pride spent several long moments debating the options.
Eventually I crept downstairs using my flashlight app and the occasional shaft of moonlight through windows to guide me. I flipped every light switch I came across, not expecting, but hoping, that maybe part of the house still had power.
