Loyally luke, p.9
Loyally, Luke, page 9
“That’s probably the best kind of good sense.”
She paused her gaze in his before dipping her chin. “Good.” She started toward Pete and then tossed a look over her shoulder. “But for proper reference, I know my way around a hammer. I may not be able to do much else as far as construction, but interior design taught me that much.”
Interior design? Hmm . . . then her comfort with a hammer made sense.
He pulled his gaze away from her retreating form and put his mind to task.
The process moved rather smoothly from there. Luke only had trouble understanding Ross and Gordon a few times, and they weren’t big talkers either. Sometimes he’d overhear them making comments to each other in Gaelic or Caedric—he wasn’t sure which one—but otherwise, they kept to work talk. Good craftsmen related to good craftsmen for the most part. And mostly used work talk, which suited Luke just fine. The understanding of the work and the desire to do a good job transcended different cultures and backgrounds in many ways.
It was another reason he liked working in building over accounting. He’d always been drawn to creating with his hands. Sure, it started with some mean LEGO skills, but his uncle had seen the carpentry gift and taken Luke under his wing. His father’s handcrafts through furniture making only enhanced Luke’s skills and interest.
His mom had said it was because Luke liked fixing things.
His gaze traveled up from his place by the window and fell on Ellie, who was carrying scrap wood from the kitchen floor out to a safe place away from the children. Pete came along and offered to help, but she shook her head, continuing on without complaint. She’d been working as hard as the rest of them all morning.
Well, Pete seemed a little distracted by one of the lower-grade teachers. The teacher seemed pretty distracted by Pete too, from the way she kept making eyes at him.
Luke frowned and returned to his work. He wasn’t making eyes at Ellie like that, was he? Oh man, that would just be embarrassing.
His brain scanned through all of his favorite movies. Indiana Jones? Rambo? Ethan Hunt in Mission: Impossible?
Nah. Indiana wasn’t the best example with his track record.
Rambo either.
His brain paused on Aragorn.
Okay, so maybe there were some not-so-embarrassing examples of “making eyes.”
Luke gave his head a strong shake. Nope. Wasn’t going there.
He turned all of his mental energy back to wood and nails and dust.
And away from Ellie St. Clare.
* * *
Text from Izzy to Penelope: Luke starts the job with Grace Kelly today.
Penelope: Of course he does. Ooh, I wonder what sorts of connection moments they’ll have. Will he brush her hair from her face? Will she help tend his wound? Will their eyes catch across the room of tools and sawdust? Um . . . not sure that last scene in my head is as romantic as the others.
Izzy: Penelope, Grace Kelly doesn’t seem his type at all. Reserved. High-class. Working for the royal family?!? I mean, Luke hates anything princess-y, let alone girls who act like they ARE princesses (I mean that in the bad princess way, not the way you act like a princess). It’s definitely not a match for him.
Penelope: I’m shocked at you, Izzy. Where is your love for tropes? Enemies to lovers? Opposites attract? Fish-out-of-water romances? AND he’s even wearing flannel. He’s living his best Hallmark movie dream right now.
Izzy: Penn, I think we can safely say Luke would never put the words “best,” “Hallmark,” and “dream” in the same sentence in reference to himself. Ever.
Penelope: Well, that’s all right. We can dream it for him. Isn’t it fun??? And I can give him pointers from my vast movie-lover experience so he won’t be blindsided by what happens next. I’ve already predicted the forced proximity. Hmm . . . what do you think would be next?
Izzy: Predictions with Luke might be too dangerous for me.
Penelope: Coward. It brings my fierce daydreaming skills to the forefront. Plus, I feel some sort of justification for all the ways he’s teased me my whole life.
Izzy: For some reason, I can actually hear you cackling right now.
Penelope: I wasn’t THAT loud.
Izzy: Working with the coffee shop girl is just a coincidence.
Penelope: Izzy, there are no coincidences. Only wonderfully designed divine appointments. Or . . . well-scripted scenes. Or those moments when we’re just clumsy.
Penelope: So they’ll have to engage in a few awkward moments. You know what I mean? Catch her when she falls. Or reach for the same cup.
Izzy: Or hammer, in Luke’s case.
Penelope: Right. Or show up at the same place unexpectedly.
Izzy: And find out they have some similar interests.
Penelope: Right! Be surprised that their first opinions aren’t true. EEEE!!!! It’s like writing Luke’s love story while it’s happening. This makes me so happy. We should share our ideas with him.
Izzy: He would hate us. Mostly you.
Penelope: Pssht! I’m not worried. He’s hated me before.
* * *
Mrs. Kershaw provided a nice lunch of vegetable soup and rolls—hearty enough to get the workers through the rest of the day without much trouble. She’d even had a few of the older kids bring in cookies, or what they called biscuits over here, as well as offer tea and coffee.
Luke took his cup of coffee and walked out onto a large veranda connected to the back of the castle. He still shook his head every time he thought of working in a castle. If this had happened to Penelope, he wouldn’t have blinked an eye. But he wasn’t the castle sort.
Though he had to appreciate the architecture.
And the perfect situation of where the owner had chosen to build the place.
Even as a chilly bite clung to the March breeze, Luke had to take any opportunity to appreciate the view. Miles of views. Rich green hills rolling up to jagged mountains. A lake off to one side.
He squinted.
And what was that in the far distance? Some sort of estate house?
He’d never admit it out loud, but this whole island was like stepping into a storybook. He preferred thinking of it more like something out of an epic movie like The Lord of the Rings, but he couldn’t help the occasional turn of thought, despite his attempts, toward the fairy-tale story direction.
“It’s a pretty spectacular view, isn’t it?”
He turned to find Ellie joining him at the veranda railing, her gaze focused on the view ahead. He’d spent most of the morning reordering his thoughts and tugging his emotions to comply, so when she turned up, looking all comfortable and cozy with that cup of coffee between her palms, it only took five seconds to pull his attention from her profile.
Five.
That was much better than the last time.
“Like nothing I’ve seen before.”
She turned toward him. “Didn’t you say there were some lovely mountains near where you live? Something bluish?”
He tilted his head, studying her. “You were listening that carefully, Ellie?”
“Maybe. And I might have googled images.” Her lips twitched. “Trying to see this world from a novel point of view is difficult. It’s all I’ve known.”
“I get that.” He nodded, taking another sip of coffee. “Besides going on a few mission trips to South America, I’ve not traveled much from home either.”
“Do you . . . like home?”
Her hesitation drew his gaze to her face. “I do. I like the place, the people. I like knowing who to call when I need something and where to go to find it. And I like the scenery and the quiet. And that my family is just down the road.”
“I always thought people like you were from fairy-tale stories.”
He nearly spit out his coffee. “What?”
Her grin resurfaced. “You’re, what do they call you, one of the good guys?”
“Not sure good guys are just reserved for fairy tales, or at least I hope not. I’d like to think they’re a lot more . . . real than that.”
She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “You know what I mean. Honest, reliable, authentic.” She waved toward him. “But instead of a knight’s armor, you wear flannel.” A chuckle wrapped around her words.
“And instead of a sword, I carry a hammer?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m not sure whether you’re trying to compliment or insult me.”
“I’ll let you sort it out then.” She took a sip of her coffee and wiggled her brows, and the nothing box exploded from all the extra things he started stuffing in it at that moment.
“I’d like to think I’m those things,” he said, rushing ahead before stopping himself. “Not the fairy-tale things but the other parts.” He drew in a breath. “But I’ve got feet of clay like anybody else, and sometimes it’s stubborn old red clay that refuses to budge.”
She stared at him, a soft smile on her face. “Hmm . . .”
“Don’t get me wrong.” He called on some humor for cover from any romance-y ideas. “It’s all the flannel. It sets off good guy vibes.”
“So lose the shirt and you’re a scoundrel?”
He gave his head a firm shake. “Now why would anyone want to get rid of a perfectly good flannel shirt?”
She chuckled again but let the conversation dim into silence. Good. He had plenty of things God was working on in him, so any idea toward a fairy tale would definitely lead to the wrong conclusions.
He nodded to himself. Exactly. Bah, fairy tales! No good. They set unreasonable expectations and led to Penelope singing too much for anyone’s peace of mind.
With a turn back toward the horizon, Ellie took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “Coffee is perfect for days like today, isn’t it?”
“I can smell the sugar in it from here.” Now, why did he keep teasing her if he didn’t want to keep talking to her? Stupid brain!
She tipped her cup toward him. “Sweet rewards for sweet personalities, I suppose.”
“Or”—he raised his mug—“you’re already so sweet, no added sweetness is necessary.”
Her laugh burst out and somehow made him feel taller. Better.
He really was losing his mind.
* * *
Ellie squeezed her coffee cup so hard she thought she might puncture it. Just the idea of Luke losing his shirt had her mind going much too close to the ogling direction! She’d been the one to accuse him and now found herself having a hard time pulling her attention from the way his T-shirt hugged his arms.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen attractive men before, even after she’d turned her life around, but his subtle humor and focused attention, paired with those arms and shoulders, proved the real attraction.
She squeezed her lips closed to stifle a grimace.
What was wrong with her?
And why had she even come out to talk to him? Any relationship with him couldn’t go where her interest wanted it to go! She knew this! He’d just stated how he loved where he lived because his family was “just down the road.”
But then he’d said her name—Ellie—in that deep, rumbling voice of his, and she’d nearly buckled at the knees. Heaven and earth! Why?
She’d been with plenty of men.
Too many.
And all the wrong ones, so a simple thing like someone saying her name shouldn’t have her wanting to curl up inside that flannel shirt of his, but here she was. Daydreaming and ogling like one of the best oglers in the world.
But she couldn’t seem to stay away, drawn to something in him she craved.
What was it? His goodness?
“You know . . .” She turned and rested her hip against the railing, looking up at him, the sunlight brightening those coffee-colored eyes. “You haven’t brought up the journal we found. Aren’t you curious at all?”
He stared down at her, his height and the size of those shoulders intimidating but for the glint in his eyes. She’d seen him with two of the orphan girls, overheard his conversation. He held a gentleness within his strong frame. A kindness.
And she . . . trusted him. More than she should at such a short acquaintance.
Her lips gave way to a grin. Perhaps he was more knight than he realized.
At heart.
“I’m curious, but I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to.”
Her emotions glitched in response. No games. No manipulation. “You are a very low-pressure sort of person, aren’t you?”
His smile widened and she forced her gaze not to drop to examine the tiniest indention at one corner. Was that a dimple? No! Not a dimple! On such a man? That just seemed like the cruelest sort of combination!
“I have my high-pressure moments. Mostly related to movies or building techniques.” His expression sobered. “I hate cutting corners and not giving people my best.”
He was definitely proving one of the good guys. “Well, that’s certainly worthy of high pressure.”
“And my sisters would say I can be high pressure on the teasing side or in competitions. I can get pretty hot during those moments.” Then he gestured toward her with his cup. “So what about this journal?”
“Ah, did we spend too long talking about you, Mr. Edgewood?” She watched a tinge of red creep into his cheeks as she took a drink of her coffee . . . and, simply put, it was one of the most attractive things she’d ever seen.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you don’t want to share, we can just head right back inside.”
“Very well.” She released an exaggerated sigh. “It’s simply that. A journal. From what I can tell, it belonged to one of the former maids of the house and tells of a romance she developed with a local farmer.”
“Of course it’d be about a romance.” Despite his growly response, she almost felt him smile, so she continued.
“I read it all in one night.”
“That gripping of a romance, or were you just bored?”
Her grin spread. “Actually, it was simply beautiful and I mean both of those words. It held a simple beauty. Nothing grand or glorious. No fencing, fighting, torture, or revenge.”
“Monsters?” He raised a brow. “Chases or escapes?”
A laugh burst out of her at his continuing the quote from The Princess Bride. “No, but there was true love, it seems, and that was the miracle.”
He scrunched up his nose as if he’d caught a sour scent. “We leave gross talk like that away from the jobsite, Ellie.”
And she lost her laugh again. “Well then, I’ll save the talk for another day and place so as not to sully the jobsite. But there was something incredibly sweet about such a simple sort of love. Straightforward and tender.”
“I reckon the best kind of love is simple in one way.” He looked back out over the horizon. “Choosing each other over and over and over again.”
She stared up at him, the declaration taking her by surprise. And yet it fit him. Direct and tender without any frills. She liked that.
He looked down at her then and shook his head, a new wash of pink coloring his cheeks. Ah, he hadn’t meant to say that.
The sound of hammers and falling wood broke into the quiet, and Luke glanced behind him back into the hall. “Looks like the break is over.” He took a few steps back, his words rushing out as if someone had given him an escape.
And it just made him more endearing.
No, Ellie. No. You promised yourself that the next time you gave your heart, it would be to the right man or not at all.
And American carpenter Luke Edgewood wasn’t an option.
She pushed away from the railing, raising her cup to him in salute. “Well then, I suppose it’s back to being a gofer.”
“I have to say you’re one of the best-lookin’ gofers I’ve ever worked with.” His eyes shot wide and he looked away, clearing his throat as he took a few more steps back.
Oh, she couldn’t let him get away with a sweet comment like that now, could she? “Ogling again, are we?”
His jaw twitched but he leveled her with a look, almost like taking a challenge. “Just stating facts.” And then the resident twinkle reentered his eyes. “And I don’t know how much of a compliment you should make of it. I work with mostly grumpy, seasoned men who smell like sawdust and sweat. Your presence would be an improvement on all fronts.”
With a lift of his own cup, he turned back toward the hall, and to her own dismay—and delight, if she was being honest—she ogled him all the way back inside.
The smile fell from her face as the door closed behind him. What was she doing? She’d worked so hard to move in the direction her family wanted her to go. Spent three years trying to renew her thinking toward solid, wholesome plans any princess should have for her family and country.
And she’d worked hard to earn her parents’ trust and confidence again.
They were finally reinstating her, officially, as a working royal at the Wild Hyacinth Ball, and she wanted that. She wanted to prove to them she was ready.
Her gaze went back to the hall and her heart constricted from a sudden pang.
Which meant another hard lesson of royal life.
Making choices for the greater good.
Not for her heart.
Chapter 7
The Daily Edge: Social Tattle from One Edge of Skymar to the Other
Another tattler spotted our reformed Princess Elliana out with Stoic Styles on what appeared to be a walk in Hyacinth Park on Wednesday evening. Did we even see the Duke of Styles smile? With a little PDA (note his hand on her back), could these two become a royal possibility for the future? She brings the crown and he brings the reputation. It’s a match fit for a princess trying to leave her past in the past.
Text from Maeve to Ellie: I only read The Edge so you don’t have to, but what the what? I met Stoic Styles once and it was like talking to a door.
Ellie: He’s actually very nice. Soft-spoken. Quiet. Very quiet. But nice.
Maeve: Reading between the lines, I’d say he’s nice and boring.
Ellie: He’s not boring. Not really. He’s merely quiet . . . and nice.
Maeve: You’ve typed “nice” three times in two messages. Just thought you ought to know. When I think of nice, I think of certain shirtless movie stars who will remain nameless.
She paused her gaze in his before dipping her chin. “Good.” She started toward Pete and then tossed a look over her shoulder. “But for proper reference, I know my way around a hammer. I may not be able to do much else as far as construction, but interior design taught me that much.”
Interior design? Hmm . . . then her comfort with a hammer made sense.
He pulled his gaze away from her retreating form and put his mind to task.
The process moved rather smoothly from there. Luke only had trouble understanding Ross and Gordon a few times, and they weren’t big talkers either. Sometimes he’d overhear them making comments to each other in Gaelic or Caedric—he wasn’t sure which one—but otherwise, they kept to work talk. Good craftsmen related to good craftsmen for the most part. And mostly used work talk, which suited Luke just fine. The understanding of the work and the desire to do a good job transcended different cultures and backgrounds in many ways.
It was another reason he liked working in building over accounting. He’d always been drawn to creating with his hands. Sure, it started with some mean LEGO skills, but his uncle had seen the carpentry gift and taken Luke under his wing. His father’s handcrafts through furniture making only enhanced Luke’s skills and interest.
His mom had said it was because Luke liked fixing things.
His gaze traveled up from his place by the window and fell on Ellie, who was carrying scrap wood from the kitchen floor out to a safe place away from the children. Pete came along and offered to help, but she shook her head, continuing on without complaint. She’d been working as hard as the rest of them all morning.
Well, Pete seemed a little distracted by one of the lower-grade teachers. The teacher seemed pretty distracted by Pete too, from the way she kept making eyes at him.
Luke frowned and returned to his work. He wasn’t making eyes at Ellie like that, was he? Oh man, that would just be embarrassing.
His brain scanned through all of his favorite movies. Indiana Jones? Rambo? Ethan Hunt in Mission: Impossible?
Nah. Indiana wasn’t the best example with his track record.
Rambo either.
His brain paused on Aragorn.
Okay, so maybe there were some not-so-embarrassing examples of “making eyes.”
Luke gave his head a strong shake. Nope. Wasn’t going there.
He turned all of his mental energy back to wood and nails and dust.
And away from Ellie St. Clare.
* * *
Text from Izzy to Penelope: Luke starts the job with Grace Kelly today.
Penelope: Of course he does. Ooh, I wonder what sorts of connection moments they’ll have. Will he brush her hair from her face? Will she help tend his wound? Will their eyes catch across the room of tools and sawdust? Um . . . not sure that last scene in my head is as romantic as the others.
Izzy: Penelope, Grace Kelly doesn’t seem his type at all. Reserved. High-class. Working for the royal family?!? I mean, Luke hates anything princess-y, let alone girls who act like they ARE princesses (I mean that in the bad princess way, not the way you act like a princess). It’s definitely not a match for him.
Penelope: I’m shocked at you, Izzy. Where is your love for tropes? Enemies to lovers? Opposites attract? Fish-out-of-water romances? AND he’s even wearing flannel. He’s living his best Hallmark movie dream right now.
Izzy: Penn, I think we can safely say Luke would never put the words “best,” “Hallmark,” and “dream” in the same sentence in reference to himself. Ever.
Penelope: Well, that’s all right. We can dream it for him. Isn’t it fun??? And I can give him pointers from my vast movie-lover experience so he won’t be blindsided by what happens next. I’ve already predicted the forced proximity. Hmm . . . what do you think would be next?
Izzy: Predictions with Luke might be too dangerous for me.
Penelope: Coward. It brings my fierce daydreaming skills to the forefront. Plus, I feel some sort of justification for all the ways he’s teased me my whole life.
Izzy: For some reason, I can actually hear you cackling right now.
Penelope: I wasn’t THAT loud.
Izzy: Working with the coffee shop girl is just a coincidence.
Penelope: Izzy, there are no coincidences. Only wonderfully designed divine appointments. Or . . . well-scripted scenes. Or those moments when we’re just clumsy.
Penelope: So they’ll have to engage in a few awkward moments. You know what I mean? Catch her when she falls. Or reach for the same cup.
Izzy: Or hammer, in Luke’s case.
Penelope: Right. Or show up at the same place unexpectedly.
Izzy: And find out they have some similar interests.
Penelope: Right! Be surprised that their first opinions aren’t true. EEEE!!!! It’s like writing Luke’s love story while it’s happening. This makes me so happy. We should share our ideas with him.
Izzy: He would hate us. Mostly you.
Penelope: Pssht! I’m not worried. He’s hated me before.
* * *
Mrs. Kershaw provided a nice lunch of vegetable soup and rolls—hearty enough to get the workers through the rest of the day without much trouble. She’d even had a few of the older kids bring in cookies, or what they called biscuits over here, as well as offer tea and coffee.
Luke took his cup of coffee and walked out onto a large veranda connected to the back of the castle. He still shook his head every time he thought of working in a castle. If this had happened to Penelope, he wouldn’t have blinked an eye. But he wasn’t the castle sort.
Though he had to appreciate the architecture.
And the perfect situation of where the owner had chosen to build the place.
Even as a chilly bite clung to the March breeze, Luke had to take any opportunity to appreciate the view. Miles of views. Rich green hills rolling up to jagged mountains. A lake off to one side.
He squinted.
And what was that in the far distance? Some sort of estate house?
He’d never admit it out loud, but this whole island was like stepping into a storybook. He preferred thinking of it more like something out of an epic movie like The Lord of the Rings, but he couldn’t help the occasional turn of thought, despite his attempts, toward the fairy-tale story direction.
“It’s a pretty spectacular view, isn’t it?”
He turned to find Ellie joining him at the veranda railing, her gaze focused on the view ahead. He’d spent most of the morning reordering his thoughts and tugging his emotions to comply, so when she turned up, looking all comfortable and cozy with that cup of coffee between her palms, it only took five seconds to pull his attention from her profile.
Five.
That was much better than the last time.
“Like nothing I’ve seen before.”
She turned toward him. “Didn’t you say there were some lovely mountains near where you live? Something bluish?”
He tilted his head, studying her. “You were listening that carefully, Ellie?”
“Maybe. And I might have googled images.” Her lips twitched. “Trying to see this world from a novel point of view is difficult. It’s all I’ve known.”
“I get that.” He nodded, taking another sip of coffee. “Besides going on a few mission trips to South America, I’ve not traveled much from home either.”
“Do you . . . like home?”
Her hesitation drew his gaze to her face. “I do. I like the place, the people. I like knowing who to call when I need something and where to go to find it. And I like the scenery and the quiet. And that my family is just down the road.”
“I always thought people like you were from fairy-tale stories.”
He nearly spit out his coffee. “What?”
Her grin resurfaced. “You’re, what do they call you, one of the good guys?”
“Not sure good guys are just reserved for fairy tales, or at least I hope not. I’d like to think they’re a lot more . . . real than that.”
She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “You know what I mean. Honest, reliable, authentic.” She waved toward him. “But instead of a knight’s armor, you wear flannel.” A chuckle wrapped around her words.
“And instead of a sword, I carry a hammer?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m not sure whether you’re trying to compliment or insult me.”
“I’ll let you sort it out then.” She took a sip of her coffee and wiggled her brows, and the nothing box exploded from all the extra things he started stuffing in it at that moment.
“I’d like to think I’m those things,” he said, rushing ahead before stopping himself. “Not the fairy-tale things but the other parts.” He drew in a breath. “But I’ve got feet of clay like anybody else, and sometimes it’s stubborn old red clay that refuses to budge.”
She stared at him, a soft smile on her face. “Hmm . . .”
“Don’t get me wrong.” He called on some humor for cover from any romance-y ideas. “It’s all the flannel. It sets off good guy vibes.”
“So lose the shirt and you’re a scoundrel?”
He gave his head a firm shake. “Now why would anyone want to get rid of a perfectly good flannel shirt?”
She chuckled again but let the conversation dim into silence. Good. He had plenty of things God was working on in him, so any idea toward a fairy tale would definitely lead to the wrong conclusions.
He nodded to himself. Exactly. Bah, fairy tales! No good. They set unreasonable expectations and led to Penelope singing too much for anyone’s peace of mind.
With a turn back toward the horizon, Ellie took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “Coffee is perfect for days like today, isn’t it?”
“I can smell the sugar in it from here.” Now, why did he keep teasing her if he didn’t want to keep talking to her? Stupid brain!
She tipped her cup toward him. “Sweet rewards for sweet personalities, I suppose.”
“Or”—he raised his mug—“you’re already so sweet, no added sweetness is necessary.”
Her laugh burst out and somehow made him feel taller. Better.
He really was losing his mind.
* * *
Ellie squeezed her coffee cup so hard she thought she might puncture it. Just the idea of Luke losing his shirt had her mind going much too close to the ogling direction! She’d been the one to accuse him and now found herself having a hard time pulling her attention from the way his T-shirt hugged his arms.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen attractive men before, even after she’d turned her life around, but his subtle humor and focused attention, paired with those arms and shoulders, proved the real attraction.
She squeezed her lips closed to stifle a grimace.
What was wrong with her?
And why had she even come out to talk to him? Any relationship with him couldn’t go where her interest wanted it to go! She knew this! He’d just stated how he loved where he lived because his family was “just down the road.”
But then he’d said her name—Ellie—in that deep, rumbling voice of his, and she’d nearly buckled at the knees. Heaven and earth! Why?
She’d been with plenty of men.
Too many.
And all the wrong ones, so a simple thing like someone saying her name shouldn’t have her wanting to curl up inside that flannel shirt of his, but here she was. Daydreaming and ogling like one of the best oglers in the world.
But she couldn’t seem to stay away, drawn to something in him she craved.
What was it? His goodness?
“You know . . .” She turned and rested her hip against the railing, looking up at him, the sunlight brightening those coffee-colored eyes. “You haven’t brought up the journal we found. Aren’t you curious at all?”
He stared down at her, his height and the size of those shoulders intimidating but for the glint in his eyes. She’d seen him with two of the orphan girls, overheard his conversation. He held a gentleness within his strong frame. A kindness.
And she . . . trusted him. More than she should at such a short acquaintance.
Her lips gave way to a grin. Perhaps he was more knight than he realized.
At heart.
“I’m curious, but I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to.”
Her emotions glitched in response. No games. No manipulation. “You are a very low-pressure sort of person, aren’t you?”
His smile widened and she forced her gaze not to drop to examine the tiniest indention at one corner. Was that a dimple? No! Not a dimple! On such a man? That just seemed like the cruelest sort of combination!
“I have my high-pressure moments. Mostly related to movies or building techniques.” His expression sobered. “I hate cutting corners and not giving people my best.”
He was definitely proving one of the good guys. “Well, that’s certainly worthy of high pressure.”
“And my sisters would say I can be high pressure on the teasing side or in competitions. I can get pretty hot during those moments.” Then he gestured toward her with his cup. “So what about this journal?”
“Ah, did we spend too long talking about you, Mr. Edgewood?” She watched a tinge of red creep into his cheeks as she took a drink of her coffee . . . and, simply put, it was one of the most attractive things she’d ever seen.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you don’t want to share, we can just head right back inside.”
“Very well.” She released an exaggerated sigh. “It’s simply that. A journal. From what I can tell, it belonged to one of the former maids of the house and tells of a romance she developed with a local farmer.”
“Of course it’d be about a romance.” Despite his growly response, she almost felt him smile, so she continued.
“I read it all in one night.”
“That gripping of a romance, or were you just bored?”
Her grin spread. “Actually, it was simply beautiful and I mean both of those words. It held a simple beauty. Nothing grand or glorious. No fencing, fighting, torture, or revenge.”
“Monsters?” He raised a brow. “Chases or escapes?”
A laugh burst out of her at his continuing the quote from The Princess Bride. “No, but there was true love, it seems, and that was the miracle.”
He scrunched up his nose as if he’d caught a sour scent. “We leave gross talk like that away from the jobsite, Ellie.”
And she lost her laugh again. “Well then, I’ll save the talk for another day and place so as not to sully the jobsite. But there was something incredibly sweet about such a simple sort of love. Straightforward and tender.”
“I reckon the best kind of love is simple in one way.” He looked back out over the horizon. “Choosing each other over and over and over again.”
She stared up at him, the declaration taking her by surprise. And yet it fit him. Direct and tender without any frills. She liked that.
He looked down at her then and shook his head, a new wash of pink coloring his cheeks. Ah, he hadn’t meant to say that.
The sound of hammers and falling wood broke into the quiet, and Luke glanced behind him back into the hall. “Looks like the break is over.” He took a few steps back, his words rushing out as if someone had given him an escape.
And it just made him more endearing.
No, Ellie. No. You promised yourself that the next time you gave your heart, it would be to the right man or not at all.
And American carpenter Luke Edgewood wasn’t an option.
She pushed away from the railing, raising her cup to him in salute. “Well then, I suppose it’s back to being a gofer.”
“I have to say you’re one of the best-lookin’ gofers I’ve ever worked with.” His eyes shot wide and he looked away, clearing his throat as he took a few more steps back.
Oh, she couldn’t let him get away with a sweet comment like that now, could she? “Ogling again, are we?”
His jaw twitched but he leveled her with a look, almost like taking a challenge. “Just stating facts.” And then the resident twinkle reentered his eyes. “And I don’t know how much of a compliment you should make of it. I work with mostly grumpy, seasoned men who smell like sawdust and sweat. Your presence would be an improvement on all fronts.”
With a lift of his own cup, he turned back toward the hall, and to her own dismay—and delight, if she was being honest—she ogled him all the way back inside.
The smile fell from her face as the door closed behind him. What was she doing? She’d worked so hard to move in the direction her family wanted her to go. Spent three years trying to renew her thinking toward solid, wholesome plans any princess should have for her family and country.
And she’d worked hard to earn her parents’ trust and confidence again.
They were finally reinstating her, officially, as a working royal at the Wild Hyacinth Ball, and she wanted that. She wanted to prove to them she was ready.
Her gaze went back to the hall and her heart constricted from a sudden pang.
Which meant another hard lesson of royal life.
Making choices for the greater good.
Not for her heart.
Chapter 7
The Daily Edge: Social Tattle from One Edge of Skymar to the Other
Another tattler spotted our reformed Princess Elliana out with Stoic Styles on what appeared to be a walk in Hyacinth Park on Wednesday evening. Did we even see the Duke of Styles smile? With a little PDA (note his hand on her back), could these two become a royal possibility for the future? She brings the crown and he brings the reputation. It’s a match fit for a princess trying to leave her past in the past.
Text from Maeve to Ellie: I only read The Edge so you don’t have to, but what the what? I met Stoic Styles once and it was like talking to a door.
Ellie: He’s actually very nice. Soft-spoken. Quiet. Very quiet. But nice.
Maeve: Reading between the lines, I’d say he’s nice and boring.
Ellie: He’s not boring. Not really. He’s merely quiet . . . and nice.
Maeve: You’ve typed “nice” three times in two messages. Just thought you ought to know. When I think of nice, I think of certain shirtless movie stars who will remain nameless.
