“How-”
“Kate stole it from your bag when she picked you up. We hid it from you,” her face brightens, “but you can have it back now!”
I grip the phone in my hand, clinging to it like a lifeline. I look up at Christine, at her calm, reassuring smile. I offer one back, much wobblier and less self-assured. She waves as I shut the door and stand in the driveway, watching her drive away.
The front door is open, just a bit. I push forward, and step inside.
He’s standing at the entrance.
“Hi.” I open my mouth. It’s the only word that comes out. It’s been over two weeks now. I haven’t forgotten what he looks like, obviously, but seeing him in the flesh again reminds me of how shockingly good-looking he is.
“Hi,” he says, stepping towards me.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where we are together, if we are still together.
He smiles. “Did you enjoy your week away?”
I glance down at my dead phone, then up at him. “How did you know about that?”
“Oh, your friends and I have been in constant contact.” He grins.
“I thought…there was no cell service up in Rangeley,” I say, thinking back to everyone’s overly loud complaining about the lack of phone usage.
He laughs and shakes his head. “Not for you, but everyone else was fine.”
My eyebrows go up. I can’t help a small laugh.
“What-”
He holds out a hand. “Follow me.”
I take it. He leads me into the house, still empty, dark with most of the lights off. Past the kitchen, down the hallways, and towards the double doors outside that enormous, empty room with the chandelier and the floor to ceiling windows.
He stands behind me, brushing the hair off my neck and placing a light kiss on my shoulder. “Close your eyes.”
“What-”
“Shh, just close them.”
I do as I’m told. His arms are around me, and I feel him reach across to open the door, gently leading me through, walking behind me and directing me into the room.
I hear him flick a switch, another one, another one, and behind my closed lids I sense light illuminating the room.
He moves me forward again, and I step hesitantly.
“One more step,” he whispers, mouth hovering above my own. He slides his hands down my arms, all the way to my fingers, and lifts them, holding them in front of me and placing them on a shelf of some sort.
“Now open,” he whispers, stepping back from behind me.
I open my eyes. I am facing a bookcase. A bookshelf, directly in front of me. I peer closely, and I am looking at a copy of Jane Eyre, my copy in fact. I recognize the binding, and the faded square where I removed the price sticker that was on it when I bought it from the bookstore in Cambridge.
“Why do you have my book-” I turn to ask him.
And then I see it.
The room.
The giant, weird, empty, grain silo room with the chandelier and the three story windows.
It’s a library.
He grins at me, that beautiful face, covered by flickers of light from the lamps installed in the walls, interspersed between book cases, carved in elegant arcs so they perfectly fit against the curving shape of the circular room. Bookshelves that go all the way up. I tilt my head back, my mouth open, counting the rows of bookshelves above my head, up to a circular platform that follows the walls of the room, a walkway, complete with sliding ladder to reach the second level. I look past that, and see a second ladder, and a second platform, positioned even higher up, the third floor, to access the highest level of book shelves.
The glow of the lamps cause the chandelier to sparkle, the crystals creating dances of light across the marble floor, the carved wood of the shelving, the bindings of all the books. To my left, the fireplace is stocked with wood, with two large, leather chairs in front. The perfect place to spend an evening.
I walk to the shelf next to me, peer closer, and see another book of mine. A copy of something Jessica gave me. Next to it, another of mine, and another, and another.
“How-”
He comes towards me, looping my hands in his and kissing my knuckles.
“I got them from your office,” he winks. “Cynthia helped.”
My brain is blank and I can barely manage a word. “What-”
“Oh this?” He looks up, taking in the extraordinary splendor of our surroundings as if it were a nondescript office space. He smiles down at me. “This was my idea, but your friends helped.”
My confusion must be clear on my face because he continues, “I wanted to do something to help you understand how I feel, how certain I am about how I feel. Kate gave me the number of a carpenter she knows. Oh, and she’s also been sending me threatening, anonymous text messages, but I think those will stop now.”
I open my mouth, but he continues. “Cynthia let me into your office. Jessica got me into your basement, where you had even more books stored, all in Tupperware. Penelope, it turns out, is friends with all the local sculptors and woodworkers in town, so she called them. Dory connected me with her electrician, and everyone else made sure to get you out of town for a week, so this could all get done.”
I pull away, moving slowly across the room, trailing a hand across the shelves. I tilt my head up again, turning to him.
“Jane,” he whispers my name, standing a few feet from me. “I was in L.A. for thirty seconds when I realized I didn’t want to be there. Or, I didn’t want to be there without you.” He strides towards me, pulling me towards him, and pressing my face against his chest. “Jane, you asked me to be sure, and I’m sure. You told me to think about it, but I don’t need to. You’re the one, Jane. The one
