Page 29 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

That day had started with him already on edge. Several times, he had been ready to dial Luis Alvarez’s number to call it all off and tell him that he was capable of fixing everything on his own. But he knew deep down he couldn’t. He’d been trying for two years since his grandfather’s death. He needed help, and soon.

He’d contacted Luis after finding his business card in his grandfather’s study, and he had put Oliver in touch with a man named Simon Emerson. He and Simon had ironed out the details of their contract, and Oliver had assumed that he would be the one doing the evaluation on the property.

Jesse walking through the front door had been completely unexpected.

Oliver sat behind the large walnut desk in his grandfather’s study, his study, he supposed, and fretted over having Jesse back in his house, in his life, ten years after they had first originally met.

The room sat like a time capsule. Everything was the same as it was the day his grandfather had died. The furnishings, the picture frames on the desk, all the same. One of Oliver’s paintings proudly hung on the wall behind the desk. It wasn’t his best work, certainly wasn’t as refined as the piece above the library mantle or in the entryway, but was the first of many that he had gifted to his grandfather after he had permanently moved to the estate.

The envelope in the top drawer with Oliver’s name scrawled on it still hadn’t been opened.

A small replica of the maze sat on a table near three large windows that overlooked its real life counterpart. He remembered helping in its construction. His grandfather would hand craft the wooden hedges, and with each completed piece, Oliver would diligently paint them green. It had taken them a year to finish over weekends and in the hours following school. Oliver stood and wandered over to it, tracing his finger along the mock path like he used to do when he was a child.

He hadn’t gone back inside, either. Not since the day of the funeral. When he thought about the maze and the state he had left it in, derelict and overgrown, his body temperature began to rise. His skin grew clammy, his head ached. It was a fever from an infected wound that was unwilling to close and properly heal.

He turned away from the windows and went back to his desk. A large ledger sat at his front that Oliver barely understood—the past few years had been a crash course in bookkeeping. He had been maintaining the upkeep of Chapman House, as well as Rose’s salary, from a modest trust that had been kept separate from the estate. At best, those funds would get them through another year, and that was only if they got a favorable quote on fixing the roof. He jotted down a note to remind himself to follow up with another potential contractor.

His phone pinged, and Oliver stiffened. After the first few texts he received from his parents after the will reading, he had given them a special ring tone so he knew when it was them and not anyone else. At the time, he thought it would give him an ounce of control over the situation; he could hear their chime and decide if he wanted to read or ignore the message. But Oliver always looked.

Charles Catesby: You’ll be hearing from our solicitors this week regarding our new findings. I know the money is running low. This could all be over if you’d stop acting like a spoiled child.

His parents had contested his grandfather’s will shortly after the funeral, but that had swiftly settled in Oliver’s favor. Outraged, they began the process of an entirely new lawsuit, that left he and Mr. Stillwell drowning under never ending pre-claim paperwork. He needed the matter resolved as soon as humanly possible. While Mr. Stillwell had been close friends with his grandfather, Oliver knew his generosity couldn’t last forever.

He put his head down on the desk and closed his eyes. The wood was nice and cool against his skin, and he used it to ground him, to soothe his artificial fever. He needed a minute to calm down.

The door to the study slammed open. “Enough of this.” So much for taking a minute to calm down.

“Yes, Rosie, do come in,” Oliver deadpanned. He’d be lucky if he didn’t get smacked for his tone.

“It has been a week, and you have avoided that poor boy like the plague. He’s bustling all around the house, working his bum off, and you’re in here, hiding.”

The comment was partially true. Had they really spoken since that first day? No. But was he actually hiding? Well, yes, he was. So maybe she had a point.

More than anything, it was embarrassment that had kept him from speaking to Jesse. An inability to man up and apologize for his behavior. Not only that, but the minute he did, the minute he apologized and stopped acting like a fucking arsehole, was going to be the minute he turned into a pile of mush and seeped right through the floor.

Each time he got an accidental glimpse of Jesse, he had to gather himself. The man had no right to be as attractive as he was, and Oliver knew he couldn’t handle such a distraction. He needed to focus on saving his home, not Jesse. He had already decided that he could survive the duration of Jesse’s stay, just by creepily watching him run in the mornings.

“I can’t hide from a man whose room is right across the hall from mine, can I? By the way, I know you think you’re clever for that. Encouraging fornication under your roof? That’s a sin, Rosie. The Pope would be appalled.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t start that nonsense with me. You ran him right out of this house. He went all the way into the village looking for a room to rent, and had to come back here once he realized there really was nothing available. That was why we offered for him to stay here in the first place.”

Oliver rolled his eyes like he was truly fifteen again. “I did not offer him a place to stay, that was you. I didn’t even know he was coming.” Rose stared at him, unblinking, one eyebrow lifted in a challenge. He sighed loudly. “I will speak to him, okay?”

“Good. And you’re going to help him do his job.”

Rose and Oliver stared at each other, neither moving from their places.

“Do you mean now? Like right now?” he incredulously asked.

“I absolutely do mean right now.”

Oliver glared at Rose as he got up and crossed the room, knowing full well that if he didn’t do what she said, he’d hear about it later. As he passed, her expression was smug, and he smothered the compulsion to roll his eyes again.

He weaved his way through the corridors, mentally noting every spot where the carpet was lifting, where the wall paper had peeled, the pesky watermarks which were much more concerning on the second floor rather than the third. He passed by rooms with doors that had been firmly shut for years. Their contents hadn’t been touched or looked upon in so long, that Oliver hadn’t worked up the courage to even take stock of what was inside.

Every flaw, every imperfection, every tiny defect equated to money that Oliver didn’t have. And now, he had to deal with the other giant complication in his life—one that was bumbling around the library.

Oliver’s socked feet barely made any sound as he approached the library, and he stopped dead in his tracks before crossing the threshold.