certain her new window would remain in one piece.
She had learned so much about Maria in the past week, but progress was still painfully slow. Their method of communication was exhausting, both physically and mentally. Her head ached constantly from her efforts to remain open to Maria’s messages, and the language barrier hindered their exchanges. But even if the process was time-consuming, it was still exciting, and Claire bounded up the stairs to share her latest information with Max.
The whine of a power drill made her pause in the doorway to her bedroom. He probably knew she was home, but she didn’t want to startle him while he was working with such an evil-looking tool. She watched the hard planes of his back shift under his bare skin as he wrestled with the window.
Tingling warmth flowed through her as she fought the urge to cross the room and slip her hands around his waist from behind. What was wrong with her? She obviously craved more contact with living, breathing human beings. But attacking Max was not the answer.
“Hey,” she said softly.
He turned from the window. “You’re home.”
The genuine smile that accompanied his words made her pulse quicken. “I see you’ve been hard at work. It looks great.”
“I did most of the work this morning, after you were already gone. I just came by to finish this up while I had a chance. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I really appreciate the help.”
He squeezed caulk into the edges of the window. “It’s no problem. I’ve had the window in my truck for almost a week, but today is the first day I’ve been able to slip away for any length of time. Hopefully soon the intern will feel more comfortable on his own and I’ll have a little more freedom.”
“That sounds great. I’m hoping once I solve this mystery, I’ll have more time to enjoy Cape Cod.” She dropped onto her bed with a sigh. “But it’s slow going,” she said, opening her spiral notebook. “I’ve been at this for a week, and all I really have is one page of facts. She doesn’t seem to want to talk about the bad stuff. Plus she wants to know about me, and I’m trying to answer all her questions so I can gain her trust.”
He returned the caulking gun to the enormous tool chest on her bedroom floor. “So, what exactly do we know at this point?” he asked, sitting down beside her.
His use of the word “we” made her heart swell with gratitude. It’s just a random phrase, she told herself. But it made her feel like he was still in this with her, even though the threat of danger was behind them.
She glanced down at the page. “Her name is Maria, obviously, and she’s sixteen years old. She died in this house. I think she was born in Mexico, or she had family in Mexico, or maybe both. She talks about them a lot. I’ve got ‘mother,’ ‘little sister,’ and ‘grandmother’ written down. It sounds like the grandmother suffered from cancer.”
He nodded, rubbing his palms on his faded jeans. “What else?”
“You’d think I’d have more,” she said, blowing out a frustrated breath. “But it’s taken a while for me to explain who I am and why I’m here.” She bit her lip, keeping her gaze on the notebook. “She did ask about you.”
“She did?”
Why had she even mentioned that? A flush crept up her cheeks as she chastised herself. Too late to go back now.
“Well, she told me that she’d suffered in this house; it’s the reason she didn’t want anyone to be happy here. She turned over pictures so she wouldn’t have to see smiling faces, and she destroyed things to drive people away. Now she feels badly, I guess, since I’m trying to help her. She said she wants me to be happy.” Claire lifted her eyes to his. “She asked whether you make me happy or sad.”
Anguish darkened his features. “What did you tell her?”
“I haven’t answered her yet—I had to look it up.”
He cleared his throat. “And?”
“ Los dos. Both.”
His
She had learned so much about Maria in the past week, but progress was still painfully slow. Their method of communication was exhausting, both physically and mentally. Her head ached constantly from her efforts to remain open to Maria’s messages, and the language barrier hindered their exchanges. But even if the process was time-consuming, it was still exciting, and Claire bounded up the stairs to share her latest information with Max.
The whine of a power drill made her pause in the doorway to her bedroom. He probably knew she was home, but she didn’t want to startle him while he was working with such an evil-looking tool. She watched the hard planes of his back shift under his bare skin as he wrestled with the window.
Tingling warmth flowed through her as she fought the urge to cross the room and slip her hands around his waist from behind. What was wrong with her? She obviously craved more contact with living, breathing human beings. But attacking Max was not the answer.
“Hey,” she said softly.
He turned from the window. “You’re home.”
The genuine smile that accompanied his words made her pulse quicken. “I see you’ve been hard at work. It looks great.”
“I did most of the work this morning, after you were already gone. I just came by to finish this up while I had a chance. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I really appreciate the help.”
He squeezed caulk into the edges of the window. “It’s no problem. I’ve had the window in my truck for almost a week, but today is the first day I’ve been able to slip away for any length of time. Hopefully soon the intern will feel more comfortable on his own and I’ll have a little more freedom.”
“That sounds great. I’m hoping once I solve this mystery, I’ll have more time to enjoy Cape Cod.” She dropped onto her bed with a sigh. “But it’s slow going,” she said, opening her spiral notebook. “I’ve been at this for a week, and all I really have is one page of facts. She doesn’t seem to want to talk about the bad stuff. Plus she wants to know about me, and I’m trying to answer all her questions so I can gain her trust.”
He returned the caulking gun to the enormous tool chest on her bedroom floor. “So, what exactly do we know at this point?” he asked, sitting down beside her.
His use of the word “we” made her heart swell with gratitude. It’s just a random phrase, she told herself. But it made her feel like he was still in this with her, even though the threat of danger was behind them.
She glanced down at the page. “Her name is Maria, obviously, and she’s sixteen years old. She died in this house. I think she was born in Mexico, or she had family in Mexico, or maybe both. She talks about them a lot. I’ve got ‘mother,’ ‘little sister,’ and ‘grandmother’ written down. It sounds like the grandmother suffered from cancer.”
He nodded, rubbing his palms on his faded jeans. “What else?”
“You’d think I’d have more,” she said, blowing out a frustrated breath. “But it’s taken a while for me to explain who I am and why I’m here.” She bit her lip, keeping her gaze on the notebook. “She did ask about you.”
“She did?”
Why had she even mentioned that? A flush crept up her cheeks as she chastised herself. Too late to go back now.
“Well, she told me that she’d suffered in this house; it’s the reason she didn’t want anyone to be happy here. She turned over pictures so she wouldn’t have to see smiling faces, and she destroyed things to drive people away. Now she feels badly, I guess, since I’m trying to help her. She said she wants me to be happy.” Claire lifted her eyes to his. “She asked whether you make me happy or sad.”
Anguish darkened his features. “What did you tell her?”
“I haven’t answered her yet—I had to look it up.”
He cleared his throat. “And?”
“ Los dos. Both.”
His
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