The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

Together they moved in the television and DVD player and hooked them up. Tom closed the doors on the unit, hiding the screen away. He’d made the doors especially because he knew there would be times that Abby would want to keep the library more formal and less like a living room.

When everything was in place, Rick left with a wave to go to work and Tom was left in the house alone.

It was nearly one o’clock when Abby returned home. Tom was out in the garden, pruning some deadwood from a couple of shrubs, when she came through the porch door. “Here you are! I saw the truck but no sign of you.”

He straightened and looked at her. She was so pretty today, in a white peasant shirt and jeans that came to just below her knees. She was wearing the funky sandals again, the beaded ones he remembered from the first day, but in so many ways she looked completely different from the woman he’d met only a few months ago.

The woman before him now was comfortable, relaxed, happy.

Happy. He wanted her to be happy, and nerves bubbled around in his gut. Today was more important than she realized …

“The FOR SALE sign’s gone.”

She nodded, coming out into the garden. “Not much point in having it still up, is there?”

He shook his head. “Did you have a good time at Jess’s?”

“Of course. I left my candles there, though, because they were still hot. When I go back she’s going to show me how to decorate my candleholders.” She held up a paper bag. “I was too full for dessert at the café, so Linda sent me home with a piece of her triple-layer chocolate cake. You want it?”

He really didn’t; he was already nervous, but he wasn’t ready yet for what was coming next, and the cake was a reasonable procrastination technique. “I skipped lunch, so that’d be great.”

They sat on the bench in the garden for a few minutes as he ate his cake with a plastic fork. He was nearly done when Abby put her hand on his arm.

“Tom? Is something wrong? You look worried.”

He looked at her and saw a crease between her eyebrows. “Nothing’s wrong.” He put the fork in the Styrofoam container and shut the lid. “I’ve just been waiting for you to get home, that’s all. I have a surprise for you.”

“You do?” The crease disappeared and her eyes lit up.

He wanted to be the cause of that look forever.

“I told you I did when you came back from Halifax, remember?” Her trip to Nova Scotia felt like years ago, instead of weeks. So much had happened since then.

“I’d forgotten all about that!”

“I didn’t. But you have to close your eyes and promise me you won’t peek.”

“I promise.” She stood up and promptly closed her eyes. He took her hand, but one look sideways showed she was trying to open one eye just a crack.

“No peeking!” he commanded, feeling the nerves, trying to ignore them and just enjoy the moment. “I mean it, Abby.”

Once they were inside he stepped behind her and covered her eyes with his hand. “I don’t trust you,” he whispered in her ear, taking in the scent of warm vanilla.

She giggled. “You’re a smart man, Tom Arseneault.”

He hoped so. He nudged her inside the library, turned her to face the cabinet, and slid his fingers away from her eyes.

“Happy housewarming,” he said softly.

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes shone as she saw the gleaming wood and antique hardware. “Oh, Tom. This is … it’s stunning! You made this?”

Relief and pride rushed through his veins. “I did. Is the stain okay? I tried to match it as closely as possible to the existing furniture.”

“It’s perfect! But you must have started this weeks ago!” She turned to him in astonishment. “How long have you been working on it?”

“Since before Memorial Day,” he admitted. “I have a workshop behind the cottage where I tinker.”

“Oh, this is much more than tinkering.” She went up to the cabinet and opened the doors and gasped again at the TV inside. “Tom, what have you done?”