their shoes and coats. She unlocked Sasha’s crate, and the kitten trotted off into the bowels of the house.
Although to call it a house was perhaps a misnomer. The place was massive. Cathedral ceilings; heated floors; the biggest kitchen he’d ever seen in his life, complete with wood-burning stove and a little exposed-brick alcove for chopped wood; three fireplaces; five bedrooms; five bathrooms.
Yeah. Ethan could’ve comfortably lived here for the rest of his life.
The kitchen’s back door opened onto a deck with a fire pit. Beyond it was a garden that overlooked the mother-in-law cottages, and beyond that was an unobstructed view of the hills.
“Who lives in your cottages?” Ethan asked while Joyce busied herself getting them something to drink from the fridge.
“No one at the moment. They’re short-term rentals, usually booked throughout summer and fall. Not much activity in winter or spring, though.”
Biting his lip, Ethan stared down at the kitten that had appeared from somewhere and was batting at the frayed hem of his jeans. “How do you feel about long-term rentals? Specifically, renting one to a couple of GH sophomores next September.”
Casey slow-panned in his direction.
“I mean . . . Unless you were planning to get a room in the dorms again next year?”
“God, no,” Casey said with a shudder. “But I thought you liked it at the House.”
Ethan shrugged. “I like that Theo and Harkrader are there. And I like that it isn’t far from campus so I can visit you whenever I want.” Which would be a moot point if they were living together. “I don’t love it, but I certainly don’t hate it. It’s just . . .” Shifting from foot to foot, he searched for the right word. “Loud.”
Joyce rounded the kitchen island that was twice the size of a king-sized bed and handed them each a glass of water. “If you’re serious, I’ll have to think about it. We stopped renting to college kids a few years ago because we got tired of hearing laughter and music from parties every weekend.”
Ethan grimaced. Every weekend? That sounded awful.
“Yeah, we wouldn’t do that,” Casey assured.
“Hm.”
“Anyway, why are we here?” Glancing around as though the answer might present itself, Casey toasted Joyce with his glass. “Not that I don’t appreciate the hosp—”
“My husband!” Joyce interrupted, pointing a finger straight up. “He can help you with your project.”
“You mean you’re not going to make love potions out of our bones?” Casey shook his head, expression falling into one of mock pity. “I knew you weren’t a real potion master.”
“Did someone say love potions?”
The voice that preceded the man into the kitchen belonged to a tall gentleman with a receding hairline and thin, white hair poking out above his ears. He wore rimless glasses, a denim shirt open over a T-shirt, and ratty jeans.
“You brought company,” he added.
“This is Casey,” Joyce said with a wave at him. “And his friend Ethan.”
“Your part-timer at the store?” The man held a hand out to Casey. “Good to meet you.”
Casey squinted at him. “Have we met? You look familiar.”
“I teach junior- and senior-level classes at GH. Are you in one of them?” But he was peering at Casey like he’d never seen him before.
“No, I’m a freshman.”
“Casey, this is my husband, Archibald Wainwright,” Joyce said. Her smile was very self-satisfied.
Ethan’s eyes went huge.
Casey’s jaw dropped. “No way! I’m doing a project on you for my Intro to Archeology class, Professor. It’s so good to meet you! I’ve been trying to make an appointment to meet with you for weeks, but your assistant keeps giving me the runaround.”
“Ah, yes, Parker’s a bit protective of me.” Professor Wainwright adjusted his glasses on his nose. “He doesn’t always make the best first impression—or second or third, I’m told, but he means well. Intro to Archeology, you said? That’s the digital encyclopedia, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“I do look forward to seeing it when it’s finished. Are you an archeology major or taking the class as a general elective?”
“Major,” Casey said with pride, shoulders drawing back.
Professor Wainwright brightened. “In that case, do you want to see my collection of artifacts?” He sounded like a child asking a visiting relative if they wanted to see his room.
“Yes!” Casey bounced on his toes. “And look, I’ve got an artifact of my own.” He pulled the chain out from under his sweater, showing Archibald the coin.
“Ah, an old Spanish dollar. I’ve got a few of these myself. Come see.”
The grin Casey shot Ethan as he followed the professor out of