"So that is what I heard. And here I was thinking there was a family of possums living up in the ceiling, or ghosts…"
"Just me," he smiled.
"I don't mind you wearing the clothes at all, or anything else you might find up there," she replied, knowing they would have been a pair of her father's trousers, who, she could remember, repainted the house at regular intervals during the summer months. She liked the fact that they were being worn again now, as though the simple gesture returned a little piece of her father to her. She placed the kettle on the stovetop. "And as far as the kettle goes, I like boiling water the old-fashioned way," she said, wondering if the Barnabys were sitting in their own kitchen eating breakfast, and missing them even more than she imagined she could. "So why don't you want the room? Is there something wrong with it?" She turned around to look at him, her eyes suddenly opening wide. "You're not thinking about leaving already, are you?"
He shook his head. "No, no. Nothing like that. It's just that I don't need anything so fancy, or so spacious. I thought I'd take the bedsitter there, behind the kitchen," he said, nudging his thumb toward the blue door over his shoulder. "I like how it opens up out onto the rear patio and the back yard, and this way, you'll have a room available when your first paying guest turns up. Kat told me she's put a sign up for you in the town square."
"Yes. I hope it isn't too premature, putting the sign up. The place still needs so much work. She frowned, concerned about the flaw in her original plan. "Do you think people will be okay with living this far out of town? I had quite forgotten how far Witchwood is to the town center when I first thought about the boarding house idea."
"The boarding house is a great idea. Who wouldn't want to live here? Have you seen the people that line up out the front just to look at the place? Once the rest of the house and grounds are all in order, I guarantee you'll be inundated with paying guests. You'll be beating them off with a stick. Look how beautiful it is out there." He pointed out the open, lace-framed window over the sink. "Look at the forest, the trees, it is picture postcard perfect. I even discovered a walking track that leads straight to a bubbling stream teeming with fish, while I was out walking last night. I might even drop a line in one night, see if I can catch us a fish for dinner. And there is a great vegetable patch out there. Granted, it's overrun, but nothing a few days of weeding and shoveling won't fix. Of course, I'll have to do that during the night." He didn't tell her that he must have been sleepwalking at the time, because the last thing he remembered was falling asleep after getting home from the party, then waking up in the middle of the forest by the stream. It had been pure luck that he'd discovered the path in the dark and found his way back home, or was it the trail, illuminated by thousands of fireflies, that had led him home? He scratched his chin; he'd need to shave soon, he decided. "I was wondering if you'd mind very much picking me up a few things from the store when you're in town next?" he asked, taking a sip of the aromatic coffee Alexandria handed him.
She took a sip from her own mug, relishing the taste of Mrs. Barnaby's special concoction of tea scented with lemon and ginger.
"This coffee tastes different. What's in it?" he asked, taking another sip of the steaming brew.
"Chicory," Alexandria replied, pulling a stool out from under the breakfast bench in the center of the kitchen and sitting down. "I found a tin of it in the pantry. Mrs. Barnaby told me a story once about how her Louisiana ancestors began adding chicory root to their coffee during the American Civil War, when coffee became scarce. Since then, it has been a long-standing tradition in her family. Do you like it?" she asked, her mind beginning to wander.
"I do, very much. I'm used to drinking coffee from vending machines at bus terminals, and it never tastes as good as this." He looked up to find Alexandria staring blankly out the kitchen window. "Alexandria?"
Alexandria continued to stare out the window, lost in her thoughts about the party, and Bran.
"Alexandria?" Andrew asked again. "Are you still with me, or are you thinking about a particular fellow that completely captivated your heart for the entirety of the party last night? Bran, I think his name was."
At the mention of Bran's name, Alexandria's head spun around. "I'm sorry. What did you just say?"
Andrew smiled wryly. "I said, by the look on your face, Bran has won your heart."
Alexandria blushed profusely. "We're just friends. I mean, who falls in love after just one night, right?"