And it was—until AnnaBelle Whitaker entered the room.
“What happened at the ball?” William asked.
I shrugged. “He had a problem being faithful. Even back then.”
“So you left.”
“It took me a while, but yes. I left.”
“And you could have gone anywhere. Gotten in that car and put a thousand miles between you and your cheating husband. But instead you ended up here, walking beside me. Life’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”
“Funny?” I asked. “I’m not quite sure that’s the right word.”
I married Robert Van Buren. Handsome Robert, who came home from Korea and wanted to get to know his neighborhood pal again. But by that time, I was a woman, no longer the childhood buddy. He courted me, romanced me, and asked me to the ball, then humiliated me in front of all of Mobile. But I married him anyway! Then he did just what I, and probably everyone else in town, expected him to do—and I kept staying! After all, good wives didn’t leave their husbands, however unfaithful they were.
Without warning, a snort of laughter escaped me. William stopped walking and stared at me, but I kept laughing, unconcerned with whether I was being proper. I laughed until my stomach ached and tears dripped from my chin. I wasn’t altogether sure whether those tears were from humor or grief.
“Feel better?” he asked when my fit was finally over.
“Tons.” I wiped my eyes.
“I think this place will be good for you.” He took my hand.
I instinctively tried to pull it away, but then I thought of Robert and AnnaBelle on the dance floor at the ball, his hand on her lower back, both of them oblivious to the openmouthed stares all around them. William’s hand was large and warm and it felt good.
“You can hide out while you figure out what to do next. But I should warn you: The Hideaway tends to make people want to stay.”
He squeezed my hand, and to my surprise, I squeezed back. Life already felt different.
Before heading back into the house for dinner, William took me to his workshop to show me a table he was building. “I’d love to know what you think about it,” he said as we crossed the grass between the house and the small woodshed where he did his work.
I looked up at him in surprise. Robert rarely asked my opinion about anything other than the doneness of a steak or whether the housekeeper had cleaned the kitchen well enough. The simple fact that William wanted to know what I thought about his work sent a spark of longing through my chest.
“You seem like someone who appreciates nice things. It’s not perfect, but I think it’s kind of nice.” He grinned at me and pushed the door open.
A table stood in the center of the room, lit by a single light hanging from a cord in the ceiling. I inhaled sharply. With his rough, calloused hands and joking manner, I’d expected something practical and useful, not such beauty.
The table was long and slim with oak boards stained a rich, dark brown, but the best part was the legs. Delicately carved vines and leaves snaked around each one. I knelt and ran my hand down one leg, my fingers following the shallow curves and twists of the carving.
“This is beautiful.” I looked back up at him.
“You sound surprised.”
I shook my head. “No, I—”
He laughed. “It’s okay. I’ve heard it before. I learned carving from my grandfather. He used to whittle sticks into little creatures—bears, dogs, cats. I tried it one day on a scrap piece of wood and discovered I was good at it.” He shrugged, then looked around the shop. “I didn’t realize it was so messy in here until now.”
Sawdust covered the floor like dew, and his tools were in disarray on his work surface. In the corner, broken pieces of wood sat in a jumble.
“I can help you straighten up, if you want.”
“You don’t have to do that. I wouldn’t want you to get your clothes dirty.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Suit yourself.” He reached behind him and grabbed a broom, then held it out to me. “You can start with this.”
We got to work. I swept piles and piles of sawdust—the stuff seemed to multiply the more I swept—while he gathered loose boards and stacked them along one wall. It wasn’t long before we both grew warm and William pushed open the door to allow in a breeze. I paused in the open doorway and slipped my feet out of my heels, kicking them to the side.
“You’ll ruin those in no time.” William pointed at my legs covered in pantyhose. “You might as well take them off too.”
“What? My stockings?”
“If you haven’t noticed, you’re the only one here who wears those things. Well, you and Mrs. DeBerry.”