I Woke Up at the Altar and Said No to the Mob Heir Who Let Me Die, but He Remembers Too novel · Chapter 35 of 40

Chapter 35: The House

"Yes," I said.

We went on Saturday, the three of us, in boots.

The house sat at the end of a short lane past the boatyard.

The river ran behind it, and there was a dead apple tree in the yard.

It was gray shingle, a story and a half, with two dormer windows.

The paint on the front door had peeled down to a green from some other decade.

"It's small," Nessa said.

"It's a good size," I said.

"It's a good size," she agreed, and ran up the steps.

The real estate agent had a clipboard and a cold. She let us in and stood by the radiator blowing her nose.

The kitchen was yellow and old, with a window over the sink that looked straight at the water.

The living room had a fireplace that had been bricked up.

"That opens," Cormac said quietly, tapping it.

Then I went through the back of the kitchen and stopped.

There was a room at the back of the house that somebody had built on later.

Three walls of windows. North light, flat and even, the light every seamstress wants and almost never gets.

A wooden floor. A long built-in counter under the windows.

I stood in the middle of it.

I could see my mother's machine under the left window. Una's shears on a nail. A cutting table down the middle.

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