The House with Blue Shutters

The cottage stood at the end of a narrow road, two hours from the city.

It had blue shutters, a deep porch, and climbing roses tangled through a gate that refused to open all the way.

Sophie pressed her face to the car window.

"Grandma had a castle."

"It's a cottage," I told her.

"It's a small castle."

Alessandro turned off the engine.

"A defensible position. The gate is formidable."

I looked at him.

He was smiling at my daughter in the mirror.

Daniel and Laura arrived a few minutes later with tools, groceries, and the kind of practical enthusiasm that made an abandoned house seem manageable.

Teresa had sent enough food for twice our number. Marco had offered to come, then withdrawn the offer after Teresa gave him a look I couldn't interpret.

A caretaker had kept the roof sound and the utilities working. Inside, the furniture wore white sheets, but the floors were dry and the windows opened with only moderate persuasion.

Sophie tried to run toward the stairs.

I caught her hand.

"Walking. We haven't checked them yet."

She sighed as though I had ruined the whole expedition.

Alessandro passed us carrying a bag.

"Listen to your mother."

"You always take her side now."

"She's usually right."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Usually?"

"I thought you'd appreciate the restraint."

Daniel laughed behind us.

By lunchtime, the windows were open, the kitchen table had been uncovered, and Sophie had discovered an old swing beneath an oak tree.

The rope was rotten.

She stared at it with profound disappointment.

"We aren't using it," I said.

"I didn't say anything."

"Your face did."

Alessandro examined the branch.

"We'll need new rope. And another seat."

"Today?" she asked.

He looked at Daniel.

Daniel looked back at him with open amusement.

"There's a hardware store in the village."

They left together.

I stood in the doorway watching their cars disappear.

Laura joined me.

"He sent Daniel four photographs of that rabbit," she said.

I turned.

"Four?"

"Apparently the angle of the left ear mattered."

My face warmed.

She smiled and went back inside before I had to answer.

Upstairs, we found a tin box in Eleanor's old bedroom.

There were photographs inside.

A young woman holding Isabella. Margaret as a baby on a blanket. Daniel so small that his hands were still closed into fists.

When he returned, I called him upstairs.

He took the baby photograph without speaking.

"I've never seen this," he said finally.

Laura sat beside him on the bed.

"Not this one?"

"Not any. My parents had pictures from when I was nearly two. I didn't know what I looked like before."

He held the photograph by its edges.

I watched him find himself in a room none of us had known how to reach.

Then he smiled.

"That's unfortunate hair."

"It improved," Laura said loyally.

I looked at his current hair.

"A little."

He laughed and shook his head.

"I've had a niece for two weeks, and she's already rude to me."

"Mom would have wanted me to be honest."

He looked at me, and the laughter softened into something else.

"I think she would have liked you finding this place."

For the first time, thinking about my mother did not make me wish I could go backward.

I wanted to put something here she would have loved.

Downstairs, Alessandro and Daniel built a new swing.

They tested the branch, replaced the fittings, and argued briefly about the correct height. Sophie supervised from a safe distance with Button tucked beneath her arm.

When it was finished, she looked at Alessandro.

"You first."

He stared at the small wooden seat.

"Absolutely not."

"You said we had to make sure it was safe."

Daniel turned away, laughing.

Alessandro sat on it.

The sight was so ridiculous that I had to brace a hand against the kitchen door.

Sophie nodded gravely.

"Now me."

He lifted her onto the seat and gave her one careful push.

Her laughter crossed the garden.

I stood at the window long enough for Laura to quietly move the dish towel out of my hands.

That evening, we ate on the porch. The cottage's future occupied the table between the sandwiches and Teresa's lemon cake.

Daniel wanted to repair it. Laura wanted proper curtains. I wanted to restore the photographs and put them where people would see them.

Alessandro offered to pay for the structural work.

"We should discuss the costs," I said.

"I just did."

I looked at him.

He set down his glass.

"You have an objection."

"Several, but we can begin with your assumption that everybody else has become decorative."

Daniel made an interested sound.

Alessandro gave him a look, then turned back to me.

"The work needs doing. I can afford it."

"And Daniel can do some of it. I can contribute, too. It doesn't have to be equal money to belong to all of us."

His expression shifted.

After a moment, he nodded.

"All right. We'll make a plan."

Laura raised her glass.

"An agreement before dessert. A promising family tradition."

Later, she and Daniel took Sophie inside to examine the enormous bathtub upstairs.

I stayed on the porch, collecting plates.

Alessandro took half the stack from me.

"You're not working here," he said.

"Neither are you."

"I'm well aware. There have been no meetings and a surprising amount of rope."

I laughed.

We carried the plates inside and returned to close the garden gate.

He bent over the crooked latch with a screwdriver. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair disordered, a streak of dust along one forearm.

I had seen him in immaculate suits and watched wealthy men wait for his attention.

I wanted him more like this.

He looked up.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You've used that answer before. I didn't believe it then, either."

I stepped closer and rubbed the dust from his arm with my thumb.

He went still.

"You didn't have to come," I said.

"You asked me."

"You could have said no."

His gaze moved over my face.

"I didn't want to."

The garden was quiet behind us. Inside, Sophie was explaining something to Daniel with great authority.

"Clara," he said.

"Yes?"

"I'm trying very hard to give you time to move away."

My heart thudded.

"I'm not trying to move away."

He put down the screwdriver.

When he touched my cheek, his hand was warm and a little rough. I caught his wrist, not to stop him, but because I needed to touch him, too.

His mouth met mine gently at first.

Then I stepped closer, and gentleness became something less careful.

His hand settled at my waist. Mine caught the front of his shirt. I had imagined kissing him, despite every sensible objection I had made to myself, but none of those imaginings had prepared me for the sound he made when I leaned into him.

I kissed him again before I could get frightened.

When we finally drew apart, his forehead rested against mine.

I smiled, breathless.

Then his hand tightened once at my waist and went still.

His gaze had dropped to the pendant against my chest.

My mother's pendant.

I felt the change immediately.

He looked back at my face.

"Clara, I—"

I stepped away before he could finish.

From the house, Sophie called for us.

Alessandro reached toward me.

I shook my head, not angrily. I wasn't sure I could bear anger yet.

"I need a minute," I said.

He let his hand fall.

I went inside, carrying the first kiss I had wanted in years and the terrible fear that he already wished he could take it back.