Page 47 of Escape to Lighthouse Cove

When she’d apologized for kissing him, Grace knew he was trying not to say. She preferred to think of it as the day they decided to be friends.

“It’s okay if I go in there?”

“Of course.” Noah gave a little shake of his head, as if clearing it. “Sorry if I seemed less than pleased by the prospect. It’s just I haven’t been in many of the rooms here, so they’re probably covered in dust sheets. But… yes. Go ahead.”

“Okay.” She scanned his face, trying to gauge his expression. She still couldn’t tell if he was pleased by the idea of her looking around or not. She felt as if she’d taken him by surprise. “Off the entrance hall?” she confirmed, and Noah frowned.

“Why don’t I show you? Jacob can set up the board.” He touched Jacob’s hair lightly and then went to the door to hold it open for Grace.

“It’s okay that I’m checking it out?” she asked as they walked down the upstairs hall, ever attuned to his ephemeral moods. “I don’t mean to be nosy.”

“It’s fine, Grace.” He smiled at her. “As long as you like looking at a lot of moldy encyclopedias, that is. If I seemed a little taken aback, it’s just because you made me realize how little I’ve done here in terms of opening up the house.” He shrugged. “I really should do something about it, I guess.”

Briefly she rested a hand on his arm, so they paused by the top of the stairs. “Only if you want to, Noah.”

He glanced down at her, his eyes darkening with an intensity of emotion that made her think he was thinking about something more serious than pulling off a few dust sheets. “It’s not a question of whether I want to,” he said slowly, “but what’s best. Right… maybe I don’t want to molder along with the encyclopedias.”

Her heart skipped a treacherous beat as she stared back at him. She was pretty sure they weren’t just talking about the house now. About empty rooms or closed doors… at least notphysicalones.

“I don’t think anyone should molder,” she replied quietly, and he let out a laugh, breaking the taut moment like a hammer to glass.

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” he agreed, and started down the stairs, making Grace wonder if they’d been talking about the same thing at all… and even what that was.

The library was covered in dust sheets just as Noah had feared, but it was a handsome room with deep-silled mullioned windows that overlooked the harbor, although the drapes were all drawn.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he remarked as he pulled a dust sheet off a beautiful mahogany table inlaid with hand-tooled leather. “At least the books don’t look too moldy.”

Grace glanced at a shelf of handsome leather volumes. “They don’t,” she assured him. “But don’t let me keep you from the Ruy Whatever opening.”

“The Ruy Lopez.” Noah stood by the door, his hands on his hips, as he surveyed the room, a thoughtful look on his face. “I haven’t been in here since I was a teenager. I can still picture my dad at that desk.” He nodded toward the desk whose dust sheet he’d removed. “He liked to work in here rather than upstairs.”

“You haven’t talked about your dad much,” Grace ventured cautiously. She hadn’t expected Noah to share anything like that.

He blew out a breath. “I’m not sure how much there is to say. He worked a lot. That was pretty much his whole personality, at least to me, as a kid. I mean, I think he was a good dad, in his own way, but he didn’t spend much time with us, and he didn’t love this place the way my mom did, even though it came through his family. He used to charter a private plane to fly up here for the weekends, but she’d spend the whole summer with us.”

Grace caught her breath. Noah definitely hadn’t talked about his mom before, except to say they weren’t speaking. “It must have been hard for her when she decided to close this place up,” she remarked quietly.

“Yeah, it was. I’m not even sure why she did. I mean… it was tragic, of course, that her friend’s daughter died. And I could see not coming for a couple of years, even… but it was like she turned on the island, you know? Like she couldn’t bear ever seeing it again. I didn’t understand it at the time. I’m not sure I do now.”

“And what about you?” Grace dared to ask, still half-holding her breath. “What made you come here after your brother died?”

He glanced at her bleakly. “It was the only place I could think to go. Jem and I had always loved it here… I think he felt happiest here, away from crowds, from any pressures… and I… I wanted to feel close to him.” His voice caught, and he let out a shaky laugh as he half-turned away from her, brushing at his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmured thickly.

“Oh, Noah.” Grace’s heart ached for him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Noah straightened, clearing his throat. “Anyway. This is the library.” He looked around the room once more without making eye contact, and then he headed for the door. “I’ll see you after Jacob’s lesson.”

“Okay,” Grace whispered, and watched him retreat in more ways than one.

She glanced around the room, the rest of the furniture still swathed in sheets, the drapes still drawn, and then to the window and, with a rattle of rings, drew them back. The view of the harbor was obscured by rain and mist, but it would be lovely on a clear day. Grace stood there for a moment, and then, with decision, she went to the other window and drew open the drapes on that one, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

She started taking the dust sheets off all the furniture—leather club chairs and a velvet sofa, a marble-topped table covered with silver-framed photos that had been lain face down. She propped them up again, pausing to study a photo that had to be of Noah and Jem when they were around eight years old. Noah was grinning, freckled and gap-toothed, clearly cheeky and full of life, while Jem was smiling shyly, his head tilted to one side, almost as if he was about to rest it on Jem’s shoulder. They were both blue-eyed and dark-haired, but Jem was slighter and smaller, and Noah had one skinny arm looped protectively around Jem’s shoulders. They were both adorable, and the photo made Grace ache deep inside.

She gazed at it for a moment more—a picture really could be worth more than a thousand words—and then she went to the next dust sheet. It was time for this room—and maybe a whole lot of other things—to come back to life.

Noah headed back upstairs wondering what exactly was making him feel… not uneasy, no. Not even sad. Disturbed, maybe, like something in him had been upended and then scattered. Maybe it was talking about his parents, or Jem, whom he triedneverto talk about, and yet some part of him had wanted to tell Grace evenmore.

He’d wanted to tell her how when he and Jem had been alone as little kids, it had felt as if they were in constant conversation, even if Jem never said a word. He wanted to tell her how they hadn’t been able to play chess together because they’d known each other’s moves too well; once they’d played a game that had lasted eight hours before they’d called a draw. He wanted to tell her talking about him hurt, but it also made him feel more alive than he had in a year and a half, since he’d come here to hide but also to be close to Jem, to feel his presence, his acceptance, in a way that still eluded him.