Why wouldn’t he leave? What man wanted a woman who sent mixed signals like this? Her hand gripped the edge of the piano, and she sank onto the bench. Oh, how she wanted to be held by him. Why couldn’t her body follow along with her heart?
She buried her face into her hands, allowing the grief for yet another lost thing in her life to pour out into quiet sobs and empty space.
“I’ve found that when words are not enough to calm my spirit, music can.”
Julia looked up at the sound of Henry’s voice, his words an adagio tempo through her heartache to comprehension. “What?”
“There are wounds within you that words cannot touch.” He drew close, papers in hand, his gaze continuing its search. “So perhaps we can find some other way to reach them.”
She wiped a hand over her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
With a careful approach, he placed pages on the piano rack then gestured toward them. “Perhaps you could try this?”
She blinked back her tears and looked at the title of the music: Broken & Brave.
Her gaze shifted back to his. What did it mean?
“I wrote it so you could choose to play it on your own, here.” He pointed to the top two piano staves, then cleared his throat and gestured to the two staves beneath them. “But I also wrote it as a duet, so if you didn’t wish to play alone”—his gaze found hers— “you wouldn’t have to.”
She looked from the music to him, tears closing around any response. How would she ever fathom his thoughtfulness? She caught another sob, and he stepped back, as if he were the reason for her reaction.
Well, technically he was, but in a good way. Before he could retreat, she grabbed his hand. “I’d rather we play it together. If…if you’re willing.”
His smile softened. “Of course, I am.”
She scooted over on the bench toward the treble keys, and he sat beside her, awaiting her initiation. Her fingers trembled as she placed them on the ivories, but after a cursory study of the music, she drew in a deep breath and began. Henry followed her lead.
Her fingers started off uncertain, quivering slightly as they kept their distance from his. The music complied to her intention, allowing her to move up the treble scale, away from his lower notes. He was there, though, his subtle scent of spice and vanilla teasing her to release her fears to the music…and to him.
As the legato melody of halts and trills wound into a faster staccato rhythm in time with her pulse, their fingers moved closer, shoulders brushing. Vanilla stamped the melody with Henry’s presence as much as the notes on the pages. Music grew in volume and intensity until it surrounded them. Synchrony, harmony, and delicious rightness crashed with cymbal-strength inside of her as his fingers swooped beneath hers to play notes between her hands. Her breath pulsed with the notes, her fingers dancing around his, with his.
The music took them on separate sides of the piano and brought them back together, through her insecurities, directly into Henry’s waiting melody. He’d written this for her. For them. To show her his intentions captured much more than words, even more than her fear. Words couldn’t reach to the soul-level that his actions, his music, awakened within her. Despite her fear, he’d found a way to bring her courage.
It was the most beautiful, intimate experience she’d ever known.
The music rose on a crescendo, their hands overlapping, their shoulders pressed together. His breath warmed her cheek, taunting her to breach every hurdle to stay near him. To trust her heart, her fears, with him.
As the music slowed, returning to its original legato, she kept close to him. She drew in a shaky breath as the last reverberation of notes faded into silence. The air zinged with words unvoiced and music spoken.
Julia slipped her fingers from the keys and into her lap, capturing courage from the melody-infused air.
Henry shifted beside her and…she turned toward him, raising her gaze to his. Her pulsing breaths caught. The tenderness in his eyes held her locked in place. His chest pumped with the same rush as hers had a few moments ago. His face flushed with a rosy glow.
How…how could she love a man she’d only known for a month? A man she hadn’t even kissed? But she did. His kindness, his…care. How could she respond in any other way but love?
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his smile bidding a benediction to the powerful performance. Love looked like this. Gentle, passionate, sacrificial…beautiful.
Without a word, he bowed his head, stood, and walked from the room.
Her emotions hung on a thread—a fraying thread. He didn’t take a kiss from her, though he must have known he could have, and yet, instead of releasing her, his choice bound her stomach in knots.
The intimacy of the music had calmed her anxiety, or at least distracted her from it long enough for it to dissipate. Perhaps, if she played this song in her head, the music, paired with Henry’s affection, would finally build the bridge her heart needed to bring about a kiss or two.
She turned to the empty room, a resolution pooling against the uncertainty.
Music spoke when words failed but—she had a feeling—so did kisses.
∞ ∞ ∞
Julia sat in her aunt’s massive bedroom siphoning another box from the final closet in the room. One box revealed old photos including some she thought her mom would enjoy seeing from her grandmother’s younger years. The contents of another box brought tears to Julia’s eyes.
Baby clothes.
Dozens of delicate and beautiful outfits that Rosalyn must have worn.
Julia had Henry take it to the car immediately for safe keeping. Even if she wasn’t having a girl, there was something incredibly precious about owning those beautiful keepsakes. And who knew? Maybe one day, if God gave her the opportunity, she’d have the chance for another baby.
Her gaze drifted to the closet, where Henry tugged out two more boxes. His hair curled from perspiration, but his outlook remained evergreen. He’d been extra cautious around her, not getting too close—a choice she didn’t like at all. She wanted him nearby. In fact, if she could learn how to manage this anxiety, she’d probably end up doing something crazy like taking charge and pulling him into a kiss.
He caught her watching him and raised a brow, as if asking her what was taking so long. Well, she was working on it.
“I’m really glad you got to come along with me one last time. It wouldn’t be the same, trying to unearth Aunt Millie’s mysterious past without you.”
His gaze took on that sweet, tender look she found almost too powerful and raw to maintain, tugging at her heart.
“I’m happy to have been your sleuthing partner. It isn’t every day one discovers a true story so compelling as this.” He lifted one of the boxes and sat it in the chair in front of her. “And perhaps there are a few secrets yet to uncover. We have these two boxes left.”
“Well, we’ve pretty much gone through everything in this house, so if there’s nothing in these boxes or a magical secret compartment somewhere, I guess the rest of our questions about Aunt Millie will have to remain unanswered.”
“A magical secret compartment?” The humor in his voice dripped with playful sarcasm.
She offered him a mock glare. “It happened with Wes and Eisley.”
“And they were in a centuries-old tower in England. I’m not certain pseudo-Victorian homes in American carry the same”—his brows gave a playful wiggle— “magic?”
Oh, give her enough time and it sure could. Lip to lip.
She waved one of the newly discovered music sheets in front of her warm cheeks. “I don’t know about that, Mr. Realist.”
His smile bloomed into a grin accompanied by an eye-twinkle. “Ah, that would be the eldest Wright brother, Matthew. Not me.”
“Oh really? And who would you be?”
“I’m the romantic.” He winked and her face flushed with the welcome warmth of a shared attraction.
Oh yes, kissing sounded better and better all the time. “You
’re trying to distract me from my valid magical argument.”
“Only confirming that I am keen on believing in magic, dove.”
Her teeth skimmed over her lower lip as her smile spread at his endearment. The piano duet had somehow bound her heart to his in an even deeper way. He’d moved beyond the friendship zone and planted himself firmly in her future.
He disappeared once again into the closet, and she stared at the empty closet doorway for a few seconds, releasing a very daydreamy sigh. Sure, he may not be the best fit for Disney-princess Sophie, but he fit the desires of Julia’s heart like a missing puzzle piece or a perfectly tuned third in a chord.
She adjusted in the chair to ease the tightness in her lower back, but comfort hadn’t been her friend all day. Her mom and Eisley had told her the last month of pregnancy proved the longest and most uncomfortable, but she’d barely begun her ninth month and already drooped from a sudden weightiness—although it did make breathing easier.
A very unladylike groan slipped out. To think she had three more weeks left of this?
In an attempt to distract herself from the discomfort, she explored the new boxes, one revealing carefully wrapped trinkets of various shapes and sizes. The next container held two vintage hats. A beige cloche with a matching flower on the side, and a navy fascinator that looked like something the Duchess of Cambridge might wear as a throwback to classic forties. Julia slid her fingers over the delicate design, both hats in pristine condition after all these years.
“Julia.” Henry emerged from the closet, his brow pinched into such tight wrinkles she shot—or rather rocked—to her feet. “I think there’s something else back here.”
She braced her palm on her back and stretched a little from the ache in her lower abdomen at her sudden movement. “What did you find?”
“I’m not certain, but would you shine the torch this way?”
The torch? She searched the room then looked back at the closet where he’d disappeared. Torch?
“Flashlight,” his muffled voice called.
Ah. She took the flashlight from the desk and met him at the closet door.
“Here. Shine on the far back wall, if you will.”
He was so polite. She loved British-speak. “What is it?” Why did she feel the need to whisper?
He turned, brow raised. “Um…I think it may be a magical secret door.”
She gave his shoulder a light slap as she moved to his side, all whisper-tendencies evaporating. “Are you kidding me?”
“Actually, no. Look.” He took the light and guided the beam toward the back of the closet, where it hit a small, square-framed door halfway up, about the size of a large shoebox.
“What is it?”
“Clearly, you have no faith in your own magical secret door theory.”
She rolled her gaze to the ceiling but shifted closer to him as he moved toward the compartment in the long, narrow space. It must have stretched half the length of the bedroom. The further in they stepped, the darker the shadows and stronger the ‘old’ smell became. Somewhere along the way, she grabbed his arm. The strength in his presence grew bigger than the anxiety in her chest, giving her a little more freedom to stay near, to accept this sweet attraction without fear. Perhaps, the more she pushed through her fear, the more courage overcame it.
And he certainly was a nice person to be close to. All vanilla-scented and cuddly.
“I do like this particular position, I think.” He shot her a crooked smile from his periphery, as if reading her thoughts. “I’m feeling heroic…as long as no mice appear.”
She snickered and squeezed closer. “I don’t measure heroism in mouse-size.”
“Excellent for me, then.” He shifted and placed the flashlight in her hand. “Here. Hold the torch, and I’ll see if the door is locked.”
She kept one arm around his and leveled the light on the small compartment, shifting with him like static cling as he edged closer to the door.
“Exactly how do you measure heroism, then,” he whispered, his focus forward.
She thought a moment and couldn’t stop her grin at her own brilliance. “Heart-size.”
He wrestled his smile and tugged at the handle. After a jerk or two, the small door creaked in protest but opened to reveal one unmagical item.
A black metal box with an old-fashioned padlock on the front.
“Another box?” She relaxed against him with a pout. “Haven’t we seen plenty of those already?”
“This is our first locked one. Must be something very special,” Henry pulled the box from its place in the wall. “Have you any idea where we may find a key?”
“I have a few from her desk we could try, but almost all of them have been door keys.”
Julia backed out of the closet, but then halted in the doorway. “Wait, Henry. There was one key, a small one.” She examined the keyhole to the box. “Small enough for that, I think. It was in an envelope that Aunt Millie left on her desk for me.” Her gaze came up to meet his, the sudden realization resurrecting her pout. “But it’s back at the apartment.”
“Prolonging the anticipation of something magical, then?”
His voice, so close and rasped, poured like warm oil down her neck and over her shoulders. She had a funny feeling he wasn’t referring to the box anymore. Her attention dropped to his lips for a split second as she struggled for her voice. Oh heavens, the man made her knees weak with just a look. “I think it will be.”
“I have no doubt.”
Chapter Twenty-One
H enry came upstairs for the last boxes to load into the car as Julia gave the house a final walk-through. It stood as a shell of its former self, with marked furniture waiting in barren-walled rooms, but Henry couldn’t help but smile nonetheless. He wasn’t the same person who’d entered Pleasant Gap over a month ago. His perspective had grown into something much fuller than he could have imagined discovering when he’d ventured with Wes to Appalachia.
He’d observed another healthy family besides Wes’s and found himself accepted as he was. Included, even by the patriarch, Nate Jenkins. He’d reignited his passion for creativity through music. But more than any of those, he’d found a kindred soul.
“Well, I think we’re done here until the movers show up on Monday to take the furniture and then the cleaners arrive.” Julia leaned against the office doorframe, her palm rubbing her abdomen, a grimace pulling at her lips. “I can’t believe we finished.”
He dusted his palms against his slacks and lifted the locked box into his arms, the last piece to include in the overpacked car. “I’m certain you have mixed feelings.”
She nodded, her other hand going to her lower back—a gesture she’d done a lot lately. Was that a habit or gesture that accompanied pregnancy?
“I think Aunt Millie knew leaving me this place would change my future for the better, so even though there are a lot of memories within these walls, I also like to think that a few of her dreams might become reality through me.”
He propped the box against his side as he met her in the doorway. “I feel certain you have the strength to accomplish whatever you set your mind to. Look at how far you’ve come. It’s remarkable.”
The rose-color in her cheeks deepened with her smile and she slid into the hallway, waiting for him to join her. “Thank you, Henry.”
There was a distinct pleasure in knowing he held the power to bring her smile to life, to somehow hold a clearer mirror up to her so she could see the truth of who she was—an activity he hoped to replicate for a long time. Till-death-do-us-part kind of long.
Her comment about hero-measures reflected him in the same way. Could it be possible that the best relationships in life did that very thing? Portrayed God’s truth back to the person through love?
She slipped her arm through his as they walked down the long hallway toward the winding staircase leading to the first floor, taking their time. A good-bye walk.
The hallway was a magnificent work of arc
hitecture because floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides welcomed a wide-angle view of the surrounding countryside, while in the back revealed a partial prospect of the layered-mountains vista. “No wonder she built her house here.”
Julia followed his gaze. “That is a fine view.” She sent him a grin, raising a mischievous brow. “But I can show you an even better one, if you want.”
“Is it far?” His gaze skimmed her body. “I wouldn’t want to overtax you.”
She waved away his concern. “I’m Nate Jenkins daughter. I won’t let a little thing like pregnancy stop me from taking a short walk up the hillside. Besides, you can’t leave this place without seeing my aunt’s favorite spot.”
They continued their way through the empty house to the driveway, and he placed the lock box in the car, then met her in the garden. Walking a well-worn path up a hillside, they weaved between large rocks and aged trees that touched overhead. Julia kept the pace slow, occasionally stopping for breath, but even at Henry’s insistence to turn back, she continued.
“We’re almost there.” She gestured ahead as she pushed back a damp swath of hair from her face and continued up the incline. “Wait for it.”
With a final burst of energy, she completed the steps to the top of the hill and up to a leveled grassy area.
Henry had expected the mountains but not the massive waterfall…or a molten sunset. Below them to the left, the water tumbled at least a hundred feet into a river, and in the distance, the orange-hued mountains gave backdrop. A rush of cool air brushed his face, carrying the scent of the mountains and water combined. Amazing.
He drew out his mobile to take a few snaps, including Julia’s profile in one or two for good measure, which she caught him doing.
“If you’re going to take a photo, you might as well get in it too, Henry.”
He slipped his arm around her waist, and fumbled through trying to snap their photo, but she quickly took the phone and completed the task with much more selfie-expertise.
When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Page 20
