When they were halfway back to the cottage, Meryl closed her notebook and looked out at the mountains. “Thank you,” she said. “For today.”
“You’re welcome,” Spencer replied, keeping his eyes on the road, though his pulse had quickened again.
“Not just for all the wonderful pieces we found for the house, but also for finding a way to get us past yesterday,” she added.
Spencer was quiet for a moment. “I’m not one to dwell on yesterday.”
But he wanted to dwell on all the tomorrows he could have with his mate.
Chapter Eleven – Meryl
“I can’t wait to see these fitted on the doors,” Meryl said, holding up one of the brass knobs they’d found at the salvage yard. The metal gleamed in her palm, solid and weighty, with that satisfying feel old brass had when it had been made properly. “They feel right for this place.”
Spencer nodded, setting down the small box of hooks on the kitchen table. “That’s because they are right. Those are probably close to what was originally here.”
They’d spread their salvage yard treasures across the table like pirates examining their plunder: brass hinges, hooks, sash lifts, and the doorknobs that Meryl kept turning over in her hands.
“Where should we start?” she asked, excited to see them in place.
Spencer tilted his head, considering. “That front bedroom door. The one you repainted.”
She was absurdly pleased that he had noticed. She’d spent hours on that door, stripping away layers of flaking paint, sanding until her arms ached, then carefully applying two fresh coats of a soft, creamy white that brightened the whole upstairs hallway.
“Let’s do it,” she said, gathering the knobs and the screwdriver.
They headed upstairs, Meryl leading the way. When they reached the landing, she paused, letting Spencer see the full effect of what she’d done.
It wasn’t just the door. The upstairs hallway looked different now. She’d cleared away the cobwebs, washed the windows at either end, and stripped the old wallpaper. The newly painted door stood out against the still-worn walls, looking fresh and new in the middle of everything that still needed doing.
“You’ve been busy,” Spencer said, his voice low behind her.
“Well, since there’s no TV and sparse phone reception,” she admitted, “I have spent my evenings working.”
He ran his hand along the painted surface, his fingers tracing where hers had been the day before. “It looks good.”
“But these will make it look even better,” she said, holding up one of the brass knobs.
Spencer kneeled beside her as she lined up the spindle with the hole in the door. Their shoulders brushed, and Meryl became painfully aware of how close he was: the clean scent of his skin, the quiet of his breathing, the way he held the other side of the knob without the slightest wobble while she worked.
“Hold it there,” she murmured, fitting the screws into place. His hand stayed steady as she tightened them one by one, their fingers brushing now and then in the narrow space.
When the last screw was secure, Spencer turned the knob. It moved smoothly, with a neat, satisfying click as the latch engaged.
“Perfect,” he said.
Meryl stepped back to admire their work. The brass gleamed against the fresh paint, catching the light from the window at the end of the hall. It was such a small thing, just a doorknob, but it changed the whole look of the door.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, surprised that something so small could matter so much.
Spencer smiled, only a slight curve of his lips, but it reached his eyes. “One down.”
They moved through the cottage with growing ease, fitting the salvaged pieces where the surfaces had already been prepared.
With each piece they fitted, Pine Cottage looked a little less battered. And a little more hers.
Spencer handed her tools before she had to ask. She passed him screws without him needing to reach for them. They had found their rhythm again somewhere along the way as they moved from room to room.
By late afternoon, they were in the sitting room, fitting the last brass latch on the window near where the ruined window seat stood. Meryl kneeled on the wide sill, the warmth of the sun still caught in the glass as she worked.
