Erica peered up to catch the black permanent marker scrawled across the side of the box he pointed to. “That’s kitchen stuff. Straight down to the right.”
He gave a nod and shocked Erica as he lifted the box of pots and pans so smoothly. The metal clinked together as he adjusted his grip, and she wondered if the bottom would fall out before he made it to the kitchen. His arms certainly wouldn’t.
“How did you know you wanted the house without ever seeing it?”
For what seemed like the hundredth time, Erica told her story of how she and her mother had idolized this house ever since she was a little girl and vowed one day to own it. They drove all the way from Decatur whenever her mother had a particularly stressful day, just to look at the house and spend some time by Jade Lake. It gave them both the chance to get away from their problems and struggles, just for a little while, and this house seemed to give them some measure of hope for the future every time. Of course, she left out the part about the inheritance and the profits from selling everything her mother owned, which she used to pay for a significant portion of the asking price. That would spark a flood of questions that she wasn’t ready to answer again.
Burt came out of the house with an empty hand truck when Tracy exclaimed, “That’s an amazing story! I don’t think the house could have gone to anyone better. You’ll certainly take good care of it.”
Erica turned up to gaze at the sharp gables of the upper story to hide the way her cheeks flushed the tiniest shade of embarrassing pink. “I hope so. I’ve been researching all about Victorian homes, so I know the kind of maintenance it’ll need.”
“Oh, you know who would be a great help with that—”
“I hate to interrupt,” Burt cut in, “but what boxes need to go next?”
Erica led them both to the back of the U-Haul, and Tracy continued, “Your other neighbor, Mr. Beaumont. He’s a genius when it comes to old things. He could probably help you if you need it.”
In her head, she abhorred the idea. If she needed help, she could just look it up. There was no need to get someone else involved in taking care of her own home unless it was way out of her league. If her mom managed to take care of business without Google or a man to help around the house, then Erica wouldn’t need anyone either.
“Good to know,” she replied politely. She pointed out which boxes needed to be dropped off at the foot of the stairs and then proceeded to grab a few to set on the hand truck.
“Why not just carry them up?” Burt asked as he reached for the box labeled for the bathroom.
“Well, I thought I’d unload everything first and then distribute the boxes across the house.”
They didn’t even know one another, but Burt gave her a reprimanding look as if to say that he didn’t think that was smart at all, and she was nothing but a silly woman. Tracy must have seen this look and scolded him for it before Erica could defend herself.
“It’s her stuff and she can do what she wants with it,” his wife said, her dark brows pinching together. “You just do what you’re told.” Tracy gave Erica a teasing wink.
Burt rolled his eyes and gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “Fine, woman.”
As he passed, Tracy gave his rump a playful slap for the remark, and he returned with a chuckle that defused the moment. It was almost comical the way this petite blonde could order a burly man about so easily. They must have had an understanding relationship to tolerate that kind of banter.
Erica glanced at her opposite neighbor on the corner of Crescent Lane and Highland Road. She had barely paid any mind to the home before. Though also of the Victorian era, the house appeared smaller than her own and was painted a dark green. The porch wrapped around all sides, and unlike hers, had no turret on the corner, and the new asphalt shingles were nearly black. It had a masculine, bold quality in its lines and architectural features that seemed so different from her home. A tall, sheltering elm tree in its front yard gave the house an all-over dark and slightly foreboding impression as if it were the setting of a horror movie.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever go and ask for Mr. Beaumont’s help, but she was certainly curious about what kind of a neighbor he would be. In truth, she was curious about the entire town. She hadn’t visited in recent years and knew of few places to go. Jade Lake was on the top of her list, of course, but she thought she’d seen a little theater down on First Street, and there were plenty of shops around the town square.
If everyone in Tolstone was as friendly as Julia, Tracy, and Burt, then Erica knew she had arrived home in more ways than one.
Chapter Two
Erica hadn’t realizedhow much time had passed until Tracy and Burt left and all the boxes were distributed to their respective rooms. Looking around her new home, she knew she’d need new furniture. Her skimpy futon couch, particle-board end tables, and the folding card table in the breakfast nook off the kitchen were almost painful to look at against beautifully carved chair rails and flowered wallpaper.
She needed good, vintage furniture worthy of a place this gorgeous. Images of patterned cushions and marble-topped coffee tables came to mind, along with a hefty price tag. As soon as her business took off, she’d put all her profits toward fixing up the interior, along with the accents to make it even more stunning. She wanted her clients to be transported the moment they walked through the doors, just as she had been. They would expect old-world grandeur, not a poor, contemporary excuse for a dining table.
Thankfully, it would be a while before she invited her clients into her home for photo shoots. For the time being, she resolved to utilize the simple beauties of nature for her backdrops and more involved photo sessions. She had seen an abandoned farm just outside of town, and Jade Lake could always be relied upon for a stunning backdrop. If she could clean up her own yard and put some of her mother’s landscaping tricks to good use, that could be another location for family portraits or graduation photos.
For now, Erica’s stomach demanded she stop daydreaming. She hadn’t taken the time to go grocery shopping, but shewanted to indulge in another childhood fantasy. There was a little diner she had wanted to visit during her childhood trips to the town, but their pocketbook always demanded they eat at home instead.
Though her jeep sat waiting for her to take a ride to the square, she passed it by in favor of walking. She wanted to see the other houses and secretly compare them to her own. Growing up, it was as if she wore blinders when riding down these streets. She never noticed any of them as a child. Her eyes were always glued to the next corner, willing her mother to drive faster or ignore the stop signs at each intersection so they could pull up in front of their dream home a little quicker. Her mom always hyped up this house as being the most beautiful on the block, and young Erica eagerly agreed without question. Now, she wondered if there were more secrets to this home than met the eye.
Passing by all the other grand homes along Crescent Lane and down toward the square, she realized there was nothing particularly special or extravagant about her new home. All the others were just as old, just as beautiful in their own way, with manicured hedges and stunning craftsmanship. That realization, that her house was just another matchstick in the box, didn’t dim her love for it. The house she and her mother had practically worshiped was still her own and no one could take that from her now.
About half an hour of slow walking brought her to Tolstone town square. Cars continued to pull through the roundabout as they had been all day long, and a few pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks at an easy, leisurely pace. She smiled at the tiered fountain in the center of the square as she envisioned herself taking her lunches on one of the benches, when the weather permitted. She could never do something like that in Decatur. It was dangerous to walk in the streets by herself, and anyplace worth going was too far for a walk anyway. Here, the air seemed infused with a safe, welcoming vibe that lightened Erica’s spirit. At any moment, she was prepared to wake up from this impossible dream.
She turned to walk along the covered sidewalk that bordered the square. To her surprise, many of the shops were already closed for the evening, far too early compared to the stores in Decatur. She wondered if every place in town was closed on Sunday too.
She found her way to Lunar Lantern Diner, one of the only places still open. The diner’s name was painted in thick, artistic letters on the wide front window, golden light spilling onto the sidewalk with the smell of fried comfort food. Inside, several couples and families occupied booths and tables along the walls.
