“Light was on down in the wine cellar when I came in,” he replied. “Make sure you turn it off. Those wires are old.”
I didn’t bother telling him again that I hadn’t been down in the cellar, so I nodded and then pushed open the door. The room was full of the old furniture, most covered in white sheets, and it was much cooler than the rest of the house. Along the back wall was a corkboard with several keys attached. On the other side of the long, narrow room was a door that opened onto the old staircase that led down to an old wine-and-root cellar that always smelled like rich soil. Only part of the basement was in use. The rest was just packed dirt and bare stone. The ancient tunnels that used to run from the cellar out into the backyard had long since been sealed off.
As I opened up the door to the veranda, the keys on the corkboard rattled. “He’s a lovable fella.”
“Seems like it.” Miranda wrinkled her nose. “Personality must not be a requirement to work in the kitchen.”
“Pretty much cooking skills is the only requirement,” I replied.
As we walked across the vacant veranda, I told her about what happened to my car. Even though it was January, it was unseasonably warm for the area, pushing into the midfifties. With the sun so bright, it would be comfortable for at least another hour or so, I decided as we sat at the glass table in the Adirondack chairs.
“The car thing is really weird.” Miranda twisted her wrist, knocking the cubes of ice around in her drink. “Like really weird.”
“I know. When Officer Bradshaw started asking me if I knew anyone who might be bothered by me being back here, it kind of freaked me out.” With my glass on the table, I sat back in the thick-cushioned chair and folded my arms across my belly. “I mean, I’m sure it was just some kids bored and completely random, because I don’t think my mother told a lot of people and then there’s just you.”
“Well . . .” Miranda drew the word out and then took a drink.
I waited for her to continue. “Well what?”
“I might’ve told someone,” she said, crossing her legs. “But it wasn’t like a random person. It was Jason.”
“Jason? Oh my God, he’s still around here?” Jason King went to college with us. The three of us had met during orientation and had shared several classes the one and a half years I’d been in attendance. Jason was a good, fun guy from what I remembered. My age. Nerdy in a cute, boy-next-door kind of way. A whiz at math and statistics, which I could respect.
And I’d seen him after I got out of the hospital. He’d been the only one who had gotten past the news reporters and my mom. The last time we’d talked he held me while I sat on my bed, held me while I sobbed, and the last thing he ever said to me was that I was safe now.
I left him behind too.
Nodding, Miranda eyed me over the rim of her glass. “Yep. Like me. You know how it is. If you don’t leave this damn town by the age of twenty-one, you don’t ever leave.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I replied, stretching over and picking up my glass. “You can leave whenever you want.”
“Uh-huh.” Dark eyes rolled. “Anyway, he graduated college and ended up opening his own insurance agency about two years ago. He stayed even though he never found his father. Do you remember that?”
I nodded. Jason’s mother and stepfather had passed away tragically in a house fire when he’d turned eighteen. From what I remembered, it had been during a cold snap and they’d been using a kerosene heater to thaw out their pipes. Their deaths had been what spurned Jason to find his real father. “Yeah, he came here because he’d been told his real father was from Hedgesville. So, he never did find his dad then?”
“Nope. You would know that if—”
“I know. I know.” I sighed. Jason had tried to get in contact with me before I left, but the calls had stopped when I changed my number.
Jason hadn’t been the only person who’d done all of that. Cole had come to the hospital. He’d called and come to the inn.
And I’d done the same to him.
My gaze lowered to my glass as I pressed my lips together. Regret was a bitter tang on my tongue. Looking back, I knew I could’ve handled everything differently, but I did what I believed I had to do then.
“I did tell him you were coming back. He was really excited about that. Wants to see you when you’re ready.” Miranda paused. “I hope you’re okay with that. He was your friend.”
“I’m okay with that.” And once I said it, I discovered that I was. “We all should get together sometime this week for dinner or something.”
“Oh! That would be perfect.” She sipped her tea. “My evenings, weekends, and summers are free.”
“Except when you’re doing lesson plans, working overtime tutoring, or when you’re working part-time during the summer because you’re worried about being laid off,” I corrected.
“You’re such a bummer.” Miranda flashed a bright white smile. “Alas, the life of a teacher.”
Miranda had been teaching at our old high school the last two years. It had taken her that long to find a full-time permanent position. Ironically, she was now the coworker of the gym teacher we’d drooled over all those years ago. According to Miranda, Coach Donnie Currie was still hot as hell.
Life was weird.
Speaking of weirdness, I thought back to the police officer who’d arrived this morning. “Want to hear something weird?”
“I love weird.” Miranda finished off her tea. “Well, none of that weird paranormal crap. Like if you saw some damn ghost in this place last night, I don’t want to hear about it, because I would like to sleep again.”
I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, no. That’s not where I was going with that statement.”
“Okay then.” She flicked her wrist grandly. “Please continue.”
“Thanks for your permission.” I arched a brow when Miranda got all squinty-eyed with me. “The officer who came out this morning, he looked . . . Miranda, he looked so much like him.”
“Him?” she whispered as her lips parted. “As in the . . . the Groom?”
“Wait. What? Oh my God.” My stomach dumped to my knees. “I don’t mean him. I meant the officer looked like Cole.”
“Cole?” Her voice dropped even lower.
“Do you remember him?” I asked, fingers tightening on my glass. “I know we haven’t talked about him in forever, but—”
“Of course I remember him!” Miranda sat up straight. “I remember every extraordinarily hot dude.”
“He was extraordinarily hot,” I replied wistfully.
“Not as hot as Idris Elba.”
“True,” I laughed.
“Back to this officer. He looked like Cole? Wasn’t Cole a cop?” Miranda refocused.