What if he didn’t remember me?
I didn’t want to face that possibility, so I didn’t approach the others but rather allowed the view of the castle grounds to draw me through the gateway. The luscious smell of freshly cut grass wafted up to me. Not far off, a large riding lawn mower sat where it had stopped in the middle of the job. Something about the place already pulled at me.
All at once, in spite of the mild June afternoon sun, goose bumps broke out on my arms. My hair swirled a little around my face. Pulling it back, I glanced around. None of the tree leaves moved. Weird. Chilled, I shivered and rubbed my arms for warmth. I’d have to get used to the cooler Washington weather.
The field spread between the gatehouse and the castle. Nothing like the manicured castle grounds I’d seen online, it was more like a beautiful meadow. Wildflowers sprinkled the section where the longish grass hadn’t been cut yet. A soccer tournament would fit on it. Or maybe the Fourth of July event Mom kept talking about.
The road split the large field in two, heading up the middle and ending at the citadel. While the structure made me feel small and insignificant, a powerful sense of connection flooded me at the same time. I’d never experienced anything like it before.
This place had belonged to my ancestors, people whose genes I shared. The citadel had been originally constructed hundreds of years ago, even before America had been America.
I fought against my intense reaction, the unexpected pull of the place, the beauty of the grounds. No way would I let this amazing castle seduce me into loving the place. Not if I meant to pursue my dreams.
Like Ezra’d said, I’d fulfill my family duty and enjoy our last summer together.
The castle seemed both larger and smaller than I’d imagined from the aerial picture we’d looked at for weeks. Where some castles made a square, Savage Citadel formed a “U.” I knew I was facing the bottom, shorter section.
Had we really thought of this as a big Bed and Breakfast? Um, understatement. More like a B&B on steroids. Daydreaming a little, I let my imagination populate the grounds with guests who wandered around, played croquet or a game of giant lawn chess. Some sat around little tables, drinking tea and eating delicate pastries. A little thrill went through me. PastriesIcreated.
“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” a familiar voice said behind me.
My heart gave a little flip-flop at the sound. Taking a deep breath, I composed my features—I hoped—and turned around.
“Hey, Coop.” I met his soft brown eyes, taking in some things I’d forgotten. He was massive, kind of like the castle. Tall, not fat. An image of him on one of our rafting trips flashed through my mind. The way his T-shirt fit, it didn’t look like he’d lost any of his muscle in the last year. His tan had faded, probably because this part of Washington didn’t have as many sunny days as California.
“Hey, Lia.” He gave me a quick, one-armed hug liked we’d always done back home. He must have been the one mowing the meadow because he smelled like cut grass. And leather and just a hint of aftershave. He said, “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Same here.” With some effort, I forced my breathing to remain steady after he released me. “How come you never mentioned you knew someone named Savage?”
“You know how it is. It’s a common enough last name.” Coop shrugged, something I’d also forgotten he did a lot. He glanced back toward where the others had gathered where Eli and Joel were shouting war cries as they put on a mock duel with invisible swords. “Moretwins?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “They kind of run in the family. We all have a twin. My parents decided to have fun with our names.”
“In what way?” He continued to watch the boys but shot me a sidelong glance.
“Well, Elijah and Joel, for example.” I looked up at Coop. “Their names both have elements that mean God in Hebrew.”
“Hmm.” He raised his brows, considering.
“Mellie—Melanie—had a twin named Phoebe. Mellie’s name means dark while Phoebe means light.”
“What happened—”
“Now Ezra and Ophelia,” I broke in to avoid the inevitable question, “both mean ‘help’ in different languages.”
Coop blinked at the interruption and understanding crossed his face. “Ophelia?” He grinned.
“Shut up.” I scowled at him. “No one calls me that except one of my grandmothers.”
“I get that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Only my mum and dad call me Cooper.”
“Hey, speaking of your parents.” I turned to face him. “Ezra said they’re the caretakers here. What doyoudo?”
“I’m the gardener. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” I asked.
“Well, probably ‘groundskeeper’ fits most of the stuff I do around here, since there aren’t many formal gardens yet. But that sounds too much like Hagrid, and—” Coop shrugged again and pulled a hand from his pocket to point at himself, his ears turning pink.
