Purgatory, West Virginia
March 31
After feeding Charlotte—she had devoured Neville’s meatloaf—and saying goodbye to Tox, Finn drove Charlotte and Auggie back to The Gingerbread House. The pickup stopped with a lurch, and Auggie hopped down from the back and started to dash off.
“Auggie, run inside and get those dishes cleaned up in the sink,” Finn said.
With a stink eye to Charlotte, the boy trudged up the porch steps.
She turned questioning eyes to Finn.
“Long story,” he said.
Finn held her bags as they stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the house. Charlotte was admiring the architecture. Finn was admiring Charlotte. It was strange, this odd feeling of surety he had in her presence. In many ways, many important ways, he didn’t know Charlotte Devlin. Was she close to her family? Did she have siblings? Was she religious? Did she want more kids? Did she have any phobias? Hate any food? The list was a mile long. And yet all Finn could think, as question after question formed thought bubbles in his head, was that it would be the adventure of a lifetime finding all those answers.
He leaned toward Charlotte, and she stepped away, her warm presence replaced by a familiar chill. Finn knew she could barely make out the structure in the dusk, but Charlotte observed it with focused concentration.
“You should have seen it four months ago,” Finn said. “The place was barely standing.”
“Well, it’s off the beaten path, that’s for sure,” she said.
“Come on. I’ll show you inside.”
Finn led the way up the wooden steps and opened the front door. Charlotte followed and stepped into the house. The front room had a faded chintz sofa and an easy chair, but he saw her eyes go to the coffee table at the center. He had made it from the old stable door. Finn had carved the legs into grapevines winding together at each corner and supporting the simple rectangular top. The vine design extended to details of grape leaves at each corner. He had smoothed the surface but left most of the time-worn divots and stains. The simple act of creating had filled him with joy, more so at seeing Charlotte’s reaction. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away.
“I made it.” Finn shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted on his feet.
Charlotte spun to look at him. “You made that table?”
“There’re woodworking tools in the shed. I guess Venable, the old man who lived here, was a carpenter.”
“Finn, it’s beautiful.” She ran her delicate hand over the rough surface. “Where did you learn to do that?”
He lifted a shoulder. “My grandfather made furniture. It used to be a hobby. Come on; I’ll give you the tour.”
“Wait.” Charlotte halted him with a hand to his chest. “Before we continue, I want to say something.”
Finn listened.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
Finn started to protest, but she held up a hand. “I should have told you about the baby sooner. Please know that I never intended to hide this pregnancy from you. I was waiting because, well, I thought you needed some time without this complicating your life.”
“It’s okay, Charlotte,” Finn soothed.
“Is it? Because you’ve had some pretty extreme reactions.”
Finn laughed. “Yeah, May was helping me with that. Guess I’m a work in progress.”
“Well, this wasn’t exactly a normal bit of news,” she conceded.
With a soft smile, he held out his hand. “More like earth-shattering. Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
Twitch watched Finn stride out to the truck for her bags; then, she walked to the stairs. From the banister to the moldings, she could see the craftsmanship that went into the home. The man Finn mentioned, Venable, was a true artist, but it was more than that. As she ran her hand over the ornate chair rail against the wall and took in the finial, carved like a fairy, she could see the passion that had gone into every detail. This house had been loved.
In the upstairs hall, she spied the open door of the bedroom, taking cautious steps forward until she was standing at the threshold. The sight before her was captivating.
“Yeah, I meant to tell you about that.” Finn appeared behind her with her things.