Lucky Stars (Ghosts and Reincarnation #5)(84)

“You had it,” she told him instead of sharing her thoughts.

“My heart bleeds,” he remarked dryly and pulled her closer, curling her so her torso was twisted to his even as she was walking forward. Her arm had to wrap around his stomach for balance and she had to tip her head way back to look up at him before he murmured, “Maybe you can fill the void.”

“I’ll try,” she breathed, he grinned and leaned down to touch his mouth to hers.

Then he straightened and uncurled his arm so she was walking plastered close to his side, not half plastered to his front.

He did all of his without breaking stride.

If she tried something like that she’d fall flat on her face.

He could, she thought, do anything.

Anything.

They walked silently the rest of the way to her cottage.

She shared her cottage with a neighbour. They owned the garden level. Belle owned the elevated ground floor.

Therefore they walked up a short flight steps to get to her door, each step held a pot of burgeoning flowers. Her cottage was painted white. The front door was a brilliant, Prussian blue. She opened the door and led them into the mud room, her many jackets hanging on hooks, ready for her walks.

She closed the door behind Jack but grabbed his hand when he ducked his head to avoid the low ceiling at the foot of the stairs in preparation for climbing them.

He turned to her in enquiry.

“I didn’t ask you here just to make you dinner,” she told him and she watched as his body braced. “I asked you here to show you something.”

He didn’t speak so she moved around him but kept her hand in his. He ducked again as she guided him up the stairs to the landing which led to her back hall as well as to her kitchen, her bath and her second bedroom. Then she took him up two more steps to the back hall and turned left into the living room.

She knew when he saw it because she felt his body jerk through his hand.

Then he stopped dead in front of her couch.

Belle stood beside him and looked at the massive canvas hanging over her couch.

It depicted a graceful, Savannah mansion (the “haunted” one where they’d once lived) with lushly blooming garden, an oak tree in front, moss hanging from its branches. Its colours were muted, beautiful blues and greys mostly, and lightning split the sky behind the watery portrayal of the house.

“The Storm Series,” Belle whispered and felt his hand squeeze hers before, slowly, his head turned and tilted down to look at her.

She caught her breath at the raw look in his eyes, a look she couldn’t read but it felt as velvet as the air from that morning.

“I have most of them here at the cottage,” she went on nervously when he didn’t say a word. “I thought you’d appreciate seeing them.” He still didn’t speak and she began to feel funny. “You can, um…” She hesitated then surged on, “Take your time. Wander the house. I’ll start dinner.”

Then she dropped his hand and escaped to the kitchen.

Carol had told her the menu. Fillet steaks that Belle was to grill then sprinkle with Stilton to melt onto the meat. Baby new potatoes, carrots and fresh petit pois for the boil. Fresh baked rolls from the bakery down the street to complete the main meal. Pudding was a tarte tatin, also from the bakery down the street, for Belle to heat and serve with famous Cornish clotted cream.

Belle would have preferred to make everything herself, including the rolls and the tarte, but she didn’t have time. Instead, she did the limited prep work, put the water on to boil, the oven on to heat the grill and was setting the table when Jack arrived in the kitchen.

She looked up from the table, still placing a knife in its spot.

“Did you see them all?” she asked and his eyes moved around the walls in the kitchen. “I don’t keep any in here. Too much moisture,” Belle informed him.

“Of course,” he muttered.

“Did you see them?” she asked, straightening.

His eyes came to her. “I saw them.”

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Belle queried softly.

He watched her a moment then he replied, “I was wrong yesterday. Your grandmother doesn’t love you.” Belle felt her brows draw together in confusion before he went on, “Those pictures, pictures she painted for you, there aren’t words to describe that kind of love.”

Belle stared at his beautiful face as her mind finally caught on.

She knew.

She knew.

She knew anyone who would understand the hidden meaning behind her grandmother’s paintings was someone who would never hurt her.

Someone she could trust.

Someone who would keep her safe.

And she also knew what she had to do.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t terrified out of her skull.

But that didn’t stop her from walking to the oven, turning off the stove, flipping off the grill and then walking to Jack.

She again took his hand and guided him down the two steps to the landing then up the two steps to the hall.

“Belle,” he said behind her but she turned right to her bedroom.

She dropped his hand just inside the door but walked in further and turned.

Looking in his eyes, she flipped off her shoes and crossed her trembling hands in front of her, grabbing her dress.

“Belle,” he said her name again. It was deeper this time, husky and rough but she didn’t see him because she was pulling her dress up over her head and then off.