Sinful Ever After - Vivian Wood Page 0,42

through things, trying to segregate the few things that should be kept from all the things that should be trashed.

It’s hot, sweaty work up here. Maybe when the room is a little more empty I can open a window, but for now I’m just sweat-slicked. The clouds of dust released every time I move anything start to stick to my skin.

It’s a lucky thing that I’m a park ranger, and therefore used to being a little dirty. Hell, I was a Navy man before that. There is nothing quite as cloying as the desert sands of Kandahar.

I can deal with this pretty easily, but I am a little worried that I will happen upon Olivia when I’m sweaty and smell bad.

I keep working anyhow. The furniture is mostly trash and I spend my afternoon hauling it downstairs to get rid of it. Most of the trunks prove to be old books. But inside one of them are several paper-wrapped packages that prove to be bottles of liquor.

I show them to Margaret, who chuckles. “Those must’ve been Betram’s. That was my brother, Carter’s grandfather. He always knew how to have a good time. And he liked to hide things away…”

I pause. It sounds like Bertram would’ve been my grandfather, if what my mother told me was true.

“Oh yeah?” I ask, careful to mask my intense interest. “He did?”

“Oh yes.” She cocks her head, considering. “He was a very playful person, even when he was older. He always said that you could take a boy out of the schoolroom but not the other way around.” She sighs and eyes the trunk. “Bertram was taken from us too soon.”

Yikes. This is good information to have, but it is veering a little into the morose. I clear my throat. “Where do you want me to put it?”

She waves her hand. “Get rid of the bottles of whiskey. Or better yet, if they are still good, drink them. That’s what Bertram would have wanted.”

My lips lift at the corners. “Alright then.”

Margaret looks to the window, to the sunlight turning amber as the sun begins to set. “You can take the rest of the day off. Tell Olivia that too. You two enjoy yourselves.”

After thanking Margaret, I head back upstairs to the second floor. The ballroom is empty but for the piles of paper Olivia has been shuffling around. I clatter back down the stairs and out the front door, grabbing the trunk as I go.

I nearly run Olivia down on my way off of the porch. She’s wearing that pink crop top and those tight white cotton pants again, her hair tied up off her neck with a kerchief. She’s wearing these oversized glasses, looking for all the world like a sexy librarian.

“Whoa!” she says, carrying an armload of books. She almost loses her balance, making me grab her arm. Our eyes connect, instantly sparking.

I look down at her, the trunk pressed between us. She blushes, even though nothing has been said.

Nothing needs to be said. In the crackling silence between us, my lips turn up at the corners. There is something about her that just pulls a smile out of me. She clears her throat.

“I was actually just coming to find you,” she says.

“Is that right?” I say. “Here I was, coming to find you.”

That turns the apples of her cheeks scarlet. “Oh. Well… I thought that I should share some information I found with you. You asked for me to look out for mentions of your mom—”

“Shhh,” I say, glancing at the door behind me. “Come on. Come back to my apartment and tell me.”

“Okay,” she says, letting me tow her along toward the woods. I feel her eyes on me. “What’s in the trunk?”

“Apparently someone in the family used to squirrel away liquor bottles. I showed them to Margaret, and she told me to drink them or throw them out. And I’m not about to waste any whiskey…”

I glance at her, watching the gears turn. She pulls a puzzled frown.

“And that made you think of me somehow?”

Rolling my eyes, I pull her through the woods. “You don't like whiskey?”

“Err… I don't think I’ve had it. And especially not any whiskey that comes out of a trunk that’s clearly like a thousand years old.”

I grin. “You’re a whiskey virgin! Lucky for you, I think I have some ginger ale in my apartment. If you haven’t tried whiskey, it’s the way to go.”

“Oh my god. You are such a bad influence,” she mumbles. Her