Vacant Heart

Chapter Twelve

We enter the manor at what I believe is sundown. The sky is tumulus and conniving, touch and go. The temperature has dropped low enough within the walls that we don't immediately remove our coats. Aidan leaves me to perform tasks around the place, such as lighting the fireplaces and candles to prepare for the darkness that's coming with nightfall, and removing the grill from the garage, which is somewhere I haven't seen before.

I'm brave enough to step into my guest room, needing to change out of these snow-sodden clothes. The mess I made of matches is still on the desk, reminding me of my terror last night. My eyes travel around the room as I change into the pajama's Aidan gave me, watching for any unusual sign of movement.

I'm paranoid, and frightened to think I'll most likely be sleeping here again tonight. I'm not really sure I have the balls to impose on Aidan again, and take up the space in his bed...well, unless he wants me to.

My smile creeps at my imagination, at the hidden desires I hope for. My bag is nestled in a chair between the desk, and the sight of the dirty poster board removes any trace of pleasure. Looking upon that sign, I am able to remember my mission, and how far I've deviated from it.

I've never experienced anything like this. My work is work, and there are no emotional attachments. And it works. It really does.

Because what if Aidan's secrets are dark? Darker than I imagine?

What if there is more than meets the eye here, and I'm fraternizing with someone I shouldn't. My professors, my boss would be ashamed of me, allowing my desire to cloud the chance for a good story. To them, imposition is necessary, and to this day, I've agreed. I've taken any story, no matter how dangerous, no matter how unsettling, which was why Aidan's seemed like a perfect match.

The fact that within days, I've rid myself of my prior judgments and not only promised a broken retelling of his life, with important aspects left out, I've ignored that sign and branded him as a good man.

If journalism has taught me anything, there's only so much good before you uncover bad. The halls of the manor have darkened, but Aidan's quick work has brightened nearly every corner. There are dozens of candles lit.

I wander into the library, discovering that he's already been here. The strong whiff of him, pine and burnt wood, has accumulated in the stuffy space. I breathe it in, sucking in deep inhales, affected greatly by the smell. The blanket I had used the night before has been laid over the seat rest, and my book is on top of it. I grab it, and flip through the pages, trying to find where I left off.

I'm laid out by the fire, immersed in the final pages when Aidan finally appears in the doorway. He's also changed, but hasn't dressed down as much as I have. I'd be embarrassed if this weren't my only choice of clothing. The initial outfit I arrived in is a bit too formal for lounging. Dressed in darker jeans, a black sweater pushed up to his elbows, he blends in with the gloomy walls, looking a part of the house.

"I wouldn't have objected to a pajama party," I say as he shuts the door. I'm not sure why he feels the need to. We're the only people here.

"I could change?" he offers with a small twitch to his mouth.

"No, I like that. I like your sweater."

He leans against the hearth, crossing his arms over his chest. The flickering flames, now tall and alive, gleam against his skin, dancing across his olive skin. "I don't want to worry you," he says after a moment. My smile fades at that, my nerves standing to attention.

"What? What is it?"

"They are anticipating the storm to be passed in two days. Bud called the sheriff, who said that due to the majority of people being in town, they're obligated to clear those streets before making their way up the mountains. We're looking at maybe four more days, maybe a week here, most likely with no power."