Tessa huffed. “Borelli, just tell me what to do.”
Paul lifted a sheet of plywood and carried it to the first window. “Drill pilot holes through the plywood at least one inch from the edge of the panel. We’ll probably want holes every sixteen inches. Once we get the pilot holes done, we’ll drive in the screws. And don’t stab me. I doubt you’re offering worker’s comp.”
They boarded up the broken windows, and by the time they were done, the sun had nearly set for the day, turning the interior of the house moody blue. Tessa stood in front of the broken French doors. She stared into the darkening backyard. “What should we do about this opening?”
Paul walked up the hallway and joined her. “There’s a tarp in the living room. We could hang that up and tape it around the edges. It’ll be a temporary fix. Not a great one, but it’ll work until we get these doors replaced.” Paul left to gather the supplies.
Lights blinked in the backyard and darted through the weeds and the branches of the oak. Tessa stepped closer to the doors.Lightning bugs. Hundreds of them swarmed and gathered within the span of a breath. Wind weaved through the yard, bringing laughter that stirred the grass.
Paul put the supplies on the kitchen island. “Is that laughing? Are there kids in the yard?”
Tessa stepped through the broken doors and onto the backyard brick patio. The lightning bugs twirled and danced, leaving trails of light behind them like comet tails. Their lights twined together, and laughter seemed to rise from the honeysuckle, from the river, from the unruly sage. While Tessa watched, the fireflies joined together in two large, whirling groups until they looked like the twinkling bodies of two children playing in the backyard. Tessa stared, slack-jawed, in awe. The next strong breeze dispersed the lights, and the laughter faded. She pointed. “Did you . . .”
“Did I what?”
Tessa shivered.Did you see the glowing kids?“Never mind.”
Paul slipped his arm around her shoulders. He smiled down at her and gave her a squeeze before dropping his arm. “We’re almost done. Help me put up this tarp before we’re swallowed by the darkness.”
After they’d hung the tarp, Tessa glanced one last time out one of the kitchen windows. The lightning bugs blinked and flitted around, but there were no children, no echoing laughter. Had she imagined it?
The evening stretched into the house and shadowed everything. Paul’s silhouette lingered in the hallway, his expression hidden. “Ready to for us go home?”
She might have imagined the glowing kids laughing in Honeysuckle Hollow’s garden, but she hadn’t imagined Paul using the wordsusandhomein the same sentence, as though they were connected. But for how long?
Chapter 17
Strawberry Pop-Tarts
Tessadreamedoflaughingchildren and a delicate wedding dress worn when roses were in bloom and the spring rain left dewdrops on the bright-green leaves and drenched the grass. When she opened her eyes the next morning, butter-yellow sunbeams reached across the foot of the bed. She kicked off the covers and stretched. Then she padded out into the living room.
Paul slept quietly on the couch. One arm stretched over his head and rested on his forehead. Tessa leaned her head against the doorframe and sighed. After she showered and dressed, she found Paul sitting up on the couch with his laptop open. His unruly dark hair stuck up on the side he’d been sleeping on, and the sleepy expression on his face made her stomach twitter. A crooked smile lifted his cheek.
“Should I even ask what you’re smiling about?”
“Who just published an online article withSouthern Living, the magazine with approximately fifteen million devoted readers? And whose feature will also be in print form next month? Andwho, might I ask, will most likely be writing for them on a consistent basis?”
Tessa’s eyes widened. “They published your article?”
“The first one, yes, that focuses on what travelers will find in Mystic Water and what they should do and see. For example, Scrambled is a local gem of a diner and can’t be missed. The longer printed article will feature more about Mystic Water’s history, its Cherokee heritage, its historic homes, and one adventurous Southern lady who bought Honeysuckle Hollow just so she could save it.”
“Congratulations! I’ll have to tell Mr. Wallach at the library and Tracey at the bookshop. They’ll want to order copies. This town loves reading about themselves.” She paused. “Did you say you wrote aboutme?”
“Iwillbe including you in the print edition. How could I leave you out? You’re at the heart of all this, in more ways than one.”
Tessa looked at her bare feet before glancing at the mint plant, which had wrapped new tendrils around pins in Australia, New Zealand, and an island north of Antarctica. “Can you write for them and work for your other outlets—like the one who hired you to write about the Cook Islands?”
Paul rubbed the back of his neck. “Freelance work is flexible. Short answer, yes, I can work for multiple outlets. Obviously, the travel articles require that I visit locations, and usually that work demands more travel abroad. Writing forSouthern Livingwould still require some travel, but a much smaller area. Being a regular writer would mean steady work and income.”
Her expression softened. “You might consider not having a willy-nilly life?” She waved her hands around in the air. “No more bouncing all over the place, never knowing where you’re going to land? You’re considering having something steady?”
Paul locked eyes with her and then shrugged. “I like willy-nilly, as you say, but I like landing here too.”
Hope pressed its needy hands against Tessa’s heart, expanding her ribcage with an inhale. “You like it here?”
“For multiple reasons.” Paul moved his laptop to the coffee table. “Mom said that you go to the diner on the weekends for a lumberjack-size breakfast. I’d hate to disrupt your routine. Can I join you?”
Tessa nodded. Paul’s cell phone rang, and the mint twitched in its pot. Paul glanced down at the blinking face of his phone, and his eyebrows drew together. He stared at the screen while the phone vibrated in his hand, flashing colored lights against his cheeks.
