Page 57 of Married at Midnight

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ellie spent the next three weeks in a blur of activity as she finished staging each room of Grayson House. Her vision was taking shape, even if Connor was no longer home during the day to help her. Ellie didn’t mind his going into the lab each day; his absence made it far easier to concentrate on her job.

Then at night, she welcomed him in her arms, much to their mutual satisfaction and fulfillment. She could no longer imagine sleeping without Connor by her side. His lovemaking was as passionate as it was tender. She could feel caring in each stroke of his hand, each thrust of his body, though he never voiced those emotions. And yet he had written her that poem . . .

Perhaps those were the only words she’d get from him—simple words inked in pen. A sinking feeling settled over her. It was time for her to accept that this was all he was capable of, or she’d be the one who walked away from this experiment with a broken heart.

Turning her efforts toward something she controlled, she’d hired a team of professional designers to implement the decorations. This morning as she walked down the stairs, Ellie allowed herself a moment’s pride. All their hard work had transformed the already-grand house into something truly magical. Two steps later, her delight faded. It was only three more days until the Holiday Street of Dreams and Viola’s wedding. Ellie had accomplished almost everything she’d set out to do, which meant she’d soon be leaving Grayson House behind.

Viola had recovered enough to leave the hospital and return to her assisted-living residence. She still had a long way to go in her recovery, but the bloom of love in her cheeks and her heart seemed to give her the determination she needed for a full recovery before her wedding.

Ellie stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She turned back to look up at all they’d achieved. Greenery wrapped the banister of the grand staircase from the bottom to the top floor. White poinsettias, white ribbons, clear glass ornaments, and pinecones were the only decorations she’d used, allowing the house’s natural beauty and charm to shine through.

A fifteen-foot tree welcomed visitors in the foyer, lit with LED candles that looked as if they’d come straight out of the Victorian age, along with the same decorations as the rest of the house.

Outside, she’d wrapped the house in white twinkle lights and cedar boughs at the first- and second-story rooflines. Wreaths with big red bows hung from every window along the front and back of the house, completing the storybook vision from an earlier age.

Connor had offered to help her with one of the more complex outside decorations. Since Lenny, George, Aaron, and Ernie were an accomplished singing group, she and Connor had hired them to dress in Victorian clothing and sing carols from long ago in a recording studio in the city. Connor’s plan was to project their image in a 3-D hologram on the front lawn. She’d coordinated the songs and the costumes for the four men. Connor had said he would take care of the projection for both daytime and nighttime viewing.

Ellie turned and headed for the kitchen. It was time to get started on the last pieces of her design. In the three remaining days before the showing, she had to bake and decorate enough gingerbread houses to place in each room of the house.

An hour later, the familiar scent of cinnamon and cloves permeated the air in the kitchen as Ellie took gingerbread that would become the first houses out of the oven. As she set the gingerbread on racks to cool, a knock sounded at the door.

A quick glance at her watch let her know it would be the photojournalist from the Seattle Gazette who’d arranged to stop by and take pictures of Grayson House to advertise the Friday event.

After a tour and many pictures of the house, Ellie brought her guest back to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a gingerbread cookie made from the leftover dough.

“You pulled off a miracle, Mrs. Grayson. None of us at the paper thought you could manage it in the time you had,” Rachel Gatis admitted, chewing on a warm cookie.

“It wasn’t easy,” Ellie said with a laugh as she took another sheet of gingerbread from the oven and placed it on a cooling rack.

“What’s your secret?” Rachel asked.

“I had lots of help. If you’d like a list of the contractors who provided the services, I’d be happy to provide one.”

“Readers love that,” the photojournalist said as she sat back in her chair. “What’s next for you? Had any new job offers during the renovation?”

Ellie inhaled the gingerbread-laden air. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Guess I’d better start worrying about another job sometime soon.” By Friday she’d be right back where she’d started—with no clients . . . and no husband.

Rachel shrugged as she finished the last of her gingerbread and her tea. “I doubt you’ll have to wait long for an offer once these photos run. You’ll have them lining up for your interior-design skills. Want me to put the word out that you’re looking for work?”

Ellie turned back to the gingerbread, rearranging the pieces on the cooling rack as though the cookies needed her attention. She would miss the event-planning part of her business if the only jobs she got from now on were for design. But at least she’d have work. Finally she nodded. “Anything you can do to help would be gratefully appreciated, Rachel. Thank you.”

The photojournalist stood up, preparing to leave. “No, thank you for the preview and the treats. I’ll get these photos online right away. They’ll run in the print edition of the paper the day after Thanksgiving.” Rachel turned to leave, then paused. “That was the best gingerbread I’ve ever eaten, by the way.”

“It was my grandmother’s recipe,” Ellie replied. “I don’t think she’d mind if I shared her recipe with others. Would you like a copy?”

“Absolutely.”

Ellie saw Rachel out, then shut the door behind her, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She turned to look at the grandfather clock and his ever-present frown. There was nothing magical about the face on the clock. The artist who’d painted the old man had done so in a way that when people looked at the face of the clock, they might see something different than the person standing next to them did. The painting was an optical illusion of sorts. Regardless of that knowledge, Ellie frowned at the old man’s face, and the frown clearly etched there.

“I know. I’m a disappointment. You don’t have to rub it in,” Ellie groaned. Leaving Grayson House and Connor was the last thing she wanted to do, yet she might not have any other choice.

After she’d spent the entire day baking and decorating gingerbread houses, Ellie was happy to escape to her Tuesday-night retreat at The Lucky Club with her friends. When she arrived, Jordan and Olivia were already there, drinks ordered and waiting.

Before Ellie said a word, she slipped into the empty chair beside Jordan and downed the entire glass of pink champagne before her.

“That bad?” Jordan asked with wide, curious eyes.