章節 16: Chapter 16
Courtney fell in love with Grams on the spot. They were seated together at her dining room table and sipping iced tea. The house was enormous, what little of it she'd seen. Sitting rooms and even a ball room. A spiral staircase. High ceilings and crown molding. Hardwood floors gleamed and polished. The style was a nice blend of old and new.
Courtney told her about every stop in each city along the way to Georgia, all the while, Grams sat with her chin in her hand and a warm smile on her face. Her hazel eyes would light up every now and then with something Courtney had said, and then she'd throw her head back and laugh.
That's where Serena got it from. That laugh.
Grams spoke about her grandbabies with pride, told her several stories of the things they did as children. Grams asked very few personal questions, but Courtney had a strange feeling she knew plenty without Courtney revealing anything.
Grams finished the last of her tea and set the glass down, staring at it as if in thought or measuring her words. "You have the sight, don't you?"
A tingle shot up her neck. "The sight?"
She smiled reassuringly. "The sight. Knowing things others don't. Seeing things others can't. Feeling things that aren't your feelings."
Courtney squirmed in her chair. "Iwell, yes. But I wasn't trying to--"
"Oh no, dear. That's not what I meant." Grams' smile never faltered, calming the bit of trepidation. She placed her hands over Courtney's and studied her a moment, sadness seeping into her smile. "I see it in you. Your eyes show everything." Grams traced a finger around the scar on Courtney's forearm. She fought the urge to pull her arm away. "Someone hurt you before."
Courtney dropped her polite smile and replaced with a blank expression she had mastered over the years. "He did."
"He won't anymore. You start new now. Things will scare you, as they do, but nothing will hurt you like that again."
Courtney believed her. She had never met anyone that understood her feelings before, especially not in a positive light. She glanced at the small gold cross hanging from Grams' neck, and wondered if her father had been wrong about her visions, what else had he wrong about?
Before she had time to voice her doubts, Serena and Austin came in, the screen door snapping shut behind them. Austin smiled out of one corner of his mouth, all lazy southern charm, making her heart pound against her ribs.
He scrubbed a hand over his dark brown hair. "Did Grams talk your ear off?" He grinned fully when Serena smacked his arm. "What? What'd I say?"
Grams stood. "Oh, hush up. He's trouble," she said to Courtney with evident pride. "Me and my granddaughter are going to start dinner. Austin, why don't you show this dear where her room is, and around the rest of the estate, since we never got to that."
Austin leaned over Courtney's chair, his grin never wavering. He smelled like fresh grass and sunshine. "What do you say? Want a tour?"
There was no rational reason why her knees were weak, and how she managed to stand was a conundrum, but her smile came easily. He wasn't so intimidating after all. "Sure."
Courtney followed him out of the dining room and through the sitting room. Austin explained it was Serena's favorite room, and how she used to paint in there. The chairs were massive, and ranged in color from dark blues and greens, to creams and yellows. There was a deep sapphire rug covering the hardwood floor and made the room look all the more comforting.
She trailed him through the rest of the house, noticing the family portraits and open doorways. It was really beautiful. The windows were large and there were plenty of them. Natural light bathed each room. Grams had beautiful heavy drapes, in all colors and patterns, to frame them. Every room seemed to have its own theme, its own story. She listened intently to Austin's words, clinging to his southern accent, which drawled thick when he laid on the sarcasm. Courtney discovered, with great confusion, that she could sit for hours and listen to him talk. He had a way, without even knowing it, of easing every nerve out of her body. It was poetry.
He showed her the library, informing her that if she couldn't find him, he was probably in there. It was incredible. Her mouth gaped open as she stared at shelves and shelves of books. Floor to ceiling was covered with them. There was ivy in the little space left between the top of the shelves and ceiling, and the rest of the space was dark burgundy in color. The drapes were closed, masking another massive window. A lone leather chair and table with a small green lamp in the center of the space gave the illusion of privacy. The desk in the corner was littered with papers. A light on the computer monitor blinked rhythmically.
She slid her hand over the desk. Strength and determination pressed into her hand, remnants of old feelings from the craftsman.
"Jake made that for me a few years ago. Jake's... an old friend."
She nodded, already knowing that, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. His gaze followed the movement and then dropped to her mouth, making her self-conscious. "He does good work. It's lovely."
He didn't respond. Just stared at her mouth. Elongated seconds ticked by on a grandfather clock. She cleared her throat, and wondered what on earth he was looking at.
"Have you actually read all these books?"
That seemed to snap him out of his thoughts and he studied the room, as if avoiding her all together. "No, but most of them."
When they slipped from the room and mounted the winding staircase, he continued to talk as if nothing had happened, so she was almost able to put it in the back of her mind. Until she looked up and found his backside right in front of her.
She lost track of what he said then. His jeans were worn and low on his hips. The white T-shirt he wore tugged at his back muscles and biceps as they flexed with his movement. The shirt was coming out from where he had it tucked in to the waistband of his jeans, exposing a thin patch of tanned skin. She swallowed hard, hoping her face wasn't as red as it felt.
"So which do you prefer?" He whirled around.
When did they reach the top of the stairs? "Um, what?"
He chuckled. "That's okay. I'll put you in the room next to mine. It has the better view. All the rooms on the west side have balconies."
She didn't think the house had a bad view. She trailed him through the doorway of the fourth door on the left, into what she presumed was her room, and stopped short, dropping her jaw.
It was huge, like out of a magazine. The walls were a butternut cream, as were the bedding and drapes. Large plush pillows covered the queen-sized bed, with sheers hanging down from the canopy. The balcony had French glass doors, which he opened.
She drifted over the beige carpet and around the bed to stand behind him. He took the breath out of her lungs when he turned, bumping solidly into her. He gripped her shoulders to stop her from falling and her skin heated where they touched. Her gaze caught on the light shadow of a beard working his jaw. A strong jaw. Wide. She wondered if the whiskers would be rough or soft. His scent wrapped around her once more. Sunlight and lazy fields. He obviously spent a lot of time outdoors. She swayed closer, drawn by the safety and pull of...desire he transmitted.
"Sorry," he said, his voice rough and low. He cleared his throat.
Her gaze whipped to his. The golden brown of his irises was nearly swallowed by his pupils.
He dropped his hands and, as if unsure what to do with them, swiftly put them in his pockets. He was doing it again, looking at her mouth. Her heart punched fast in her chest and she found it hard to breathe. She couldn't get a good read on him. Just sparks here and there. Like the transmission was being intercepted.
He transferred his weight to his other leg and rubbed his neck. "Are you okay?"
"Hmm." She smiled, wanting his to return as well. Specifically the grin he'd given her downstairs earlier--the one that made the dimple poke out on his left cheek. "You ask me that a lot."
He laughed and snaked a hand through his hair, disrupting the strands. "I do, don't I?" He looked around the room, apparently searching for something else to say. And there came a smile, like he'd just remembered he should. Nervous and boyishly adorable. "Well, we should probably go back downstairs. I'm sure dinner is almost ready."
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