Warm and Inviting
Scarlett
I'm already an hour late when I pull into the long driveway that leads to my next assignment. I was positive I had given myself enough time, but I didn't account for the treacherous drive on mountain roads and how narrow and terrifying they could be. Several times I gripped the steering wheel, turning my knuckles white, as I took a corner and prayed that an oncoming car wasn't lurking around the bend. The narrow road barely had enough space for my little car, and I swear if a strong wind came it could have knocked me over the edge sending me hundreds of feet down to the forest floor.
Would it have killed them to put in guard rails?
I shook the two-hour nerve-racking drive from my head and continued down the long winding driveway. I drove for another 10 minutes before I got a glimpse of the massive structure that would be my home for the next couple of weeks. Excitement builds as I pull up closer, this house was not a home. This house was a castle. A massive stone castle that looks as if it has been abandoned for several lifetimes. I see vines that cling to the stone and travel to the third floor, wrapping around the spires that tower upwards towards the sky. I am in awe and I park the car and just sit for a few minutes, soaking in the place. It's in far worse shape than I had anticipated. I finally get out of the car and walk up the brick staircase that leads to the front doors, careful to avoid where the bricks are crumbling, and I feel like I am shrinking with each step I take. The house feels like it is swallowing me up with its grandeur.
I inspect the large oak wooden doors. There are ornate carvings of roses and birds etched into the panels, and on either side, there are gigantic windows that must climb two stories. The porch wraps the entire front of the building and as I look out I can't help but think of how beautiful it must have been when it was taken care of.
I have been commissioned many times to assist in the restoration of historical buildings, everything from museums and libraries to historical homes, but this was quite possibly the largest and most dilapidated structure I had taken on. The pay was also more money than I made in a year.
Before picking up the large brass knocker I decide to take a peek through one of the front windows. It's nearly dusk and the sun is hitting the windows just right, beaming into the great room causing the shadows from the curtains to cast sparkles across the floor. It looks warm and inviting, like a room a fairy tale would take place in. I let my imagination run and I think of beautiful parties and even more beautiful people gracefully moving around; the more I look the more I fill with excitement to get a chance to work on such a masterpiece. I am ready to explore this massive place and I push my colleague's warnings to the back of my mind.
As I gaze across the ripped wallpaper and the furniture that is tossed about my eyes fall on something that startles me and I jump. A man is sitting in a chair that is facing the window. I pull back quickly hoping he didn't see me and I wait a minute or two before I decide to take another peek. He's still there, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands entwined in his shaggy dirty blond hair. His body is ever so slightly shuttering up and down; I am transfixed on him. When he pulls his head up my stomach flips itself.
He's crying.
The sun is sparkling off of his damp face and he has the most devastatingly blue eyes I have ever seen. He pulls his sleeve up to wipe away the tears and he looks like all of the sorrow in the entire world was given to him to own. I'm not sure I have ever seen such a tortured soul before. My heart clenches and I am immediately drawn to him.
How can I go in there now? You just had to look in the window and wind up spying on some poor stranger. Some beautiful, gorgeous, tortured stranger. Geeze Scarlett, stop thinking like that.
I stand in front of the door for several minutes and fight with myself; turn around and come back another day or just knock. But, it was such an awful drive and I hate the thought of turning around and making the trip again. Selfishly I reach up and grab the large brass ring and pound it against the massive door. I wait several minutes before I pound again and still nothing. I stare at the driveway and I try to prepare myself for the fact that the troubled man is not going to come to the door. I go to take a step off the porch when I hear the creak of wood behind me.
Blue eyes cautiously peer under sweeps of blond messy hair as the door opens and I stand frozen in his gaze. I am entrapped in it.
"Can I help you?" he asked, shyly dropping his eyes from mine and staring at the floor. His voice startles me from my trance.
"H-hello, my name is Scarlett Stanton. I-I was looking for Mr. Baylor" I sound so uncertain of myself and pangs of guilt lick at my insides for spying on him. I want to know everything about him and I realize that I am more interested in him at this moment than the job at hand.
"Mr. Baylor isn't home at the moment." His voice is quiet.
"Do you know when he is returning, he is expecting me?" I am a bit surprised that he isn't here to meet me, but I am very late. He probably waited and got irritated and left.
"He won't be back for a while." and with that, the young man begins to shut the door on me.
"Wait, whoa hold on a minute" I push the door open and our eyes meet again. "I am hired to work on this house for the next few weeks. I was commissioned to work on the interior and to assist the design team to get the historical accuracy of the period just right. I'll be staying here-"
"Staying here?" His face is now etched with concern and he has an intense look that nearly cuts me down. "No, there must be some mistake. You can't stay here. It's not safe to stay here." He nearly jumps out of his skin when another voice is heard from behind him.
"August, of course, she can stay here." A tall dark-haired man opens the door all the way and pushes his way in front of the beautiful man that I have become instantly obsessed with. August
"You must be Ms. Stanton. Let me introduce myself. I am Victor Baylor, owner of this property, and this is August. He is my assistant and will be assisting you with the restoration details during your stay."
I reach my hand out to my new employer and his grip is firm and cold. He has jet black hair that is slicked back. He looks like he was etched out of stone and has a complexion to match. He is wearing a suit that no doubt costs more than my rent for a year. This is what money must look like.
I shift my focus to August. He is medium height, wearing a green sweater and jeans, and the sweater is tight enough that I can tell this is a man that does hard work during the day. I extend my hand to him and he avoids my contact and turns to go deeper into the house.
"Please come in Ms. Stanton. We are most excited to have you join us."
