When Love Strikes

by Christina Tetreault

  “Is this the only room you remodeled?”

  After taking a bottle of red wine from the small wine fridge he’d incorporated when he renovated the kitchen, he removed the cork. “No. When I moved in, every room needed something done. On their way out, the previous owners took their frustrations out everywhere. Then while it sat empty, local high school kids made it their private party house. I guess that’s what I get for buying a foreclosed property. Live and learn.”

  He handed her a glass of red wine and gestured toward the glass doors. “Unless you prefer your meat well done, the filets are just about ready.”

  “Medium rare is perfect for me. Avery likes hers well done, and I don’t know how she eats it. She even likes her chicken and pork overcooked to the point you can barely get a knife through it.”

  She took a sip from her glass and followed him outside. Although they weren’t touching, energy buzzed through his body. He wanted nothing more than to pull her close again and taste the wine on her lips.

  “I’d say this makes up for the lack of shrubs in the front.” Angie gestured around the deck and yard. “I’d trade all the flowers and plants in my yard for a pool and hot tub any day. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss both until I didn’t have either. Both are on my list of things to have installed.”

  Dakota opened the grill cover, and after checking the internal temperature of both filets, he removed them. “You’re free to use either whenever you want. I had a heater installed on the pool in June, so I’ll keep it open until about the end of September.”

  “If I had a bathing suit with me, I’d take you up on the offer now.”

  Don’t let the lack of a bathing suit stop you. He added the filets to the other dishes on the table before readjusting the umbrella so the sun didn’t roast them both alive. Then before he suggested they skip dinner and go for a late afternoon swim naked, he moved their conversation on to a new topic.

  “Did you take care of whatever Avery wanted to talk to you about last night?”

  In his opinion, talk of family was often a good way to keep desire in check. It also gave him the opportunity to learn more about her besides what the media printed or Sean told him. Last night they’d made a good start at getting to know each other, but a single date could only accomplish so much.

  Angie added a little of everything to her plate before opening her napkin and placing it on her lap. “I called her after I got home from Mia’s. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation. She’ll probably call again in a few days and try to change my mind. When it comes to things like this, Avery is rather predictable. Stubborn too. She takes after my mom.”

  It wasn’t any of his business, but he was too curious not to ask, especially since she’d said something similar last night. “Change your mind about what?”

  “Viking Studios plans to make a sequel to A Prince to Call Her Own. They want me to resume the role I played in the movie. I already told my agent and Avery I’m not interested in doing the sequel. Skylar’s accepted my decision, or at least I think she has. Avery and my mom are another story.”

  Angie sliced into her meat and popped a piece in her mouth. She took two more bites before continuing. “They both want me to spend a few weeks here visiting with Mia and Natalie and then get back to what they call my ‘real life.’” She made air quotes as she said the words and rolled her eyes. “For the hundredth time, I told Avery that I’m changing my real life. Not long after our chat, Mom and I had a video call so she could pick up where my sister left off. Thanks to modern technology, I was able to witness the eruption of Mount Vesuvius firsthand.”

  Not for the first time, he was glad Lynn Troy wasn’t his mother. Mom shared her opinion freely even if you didn’t ask her for it, but she’d always accepted the decisions he and his siblings made. “That bad?”

  She nodded, and the end of her long ponytail slipped over her shoulder, cascading over her chest. Dakota’s fingers itched to move the hair back over her shoulder and replace it with his hand.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not changing my mind. Next week I’m going to get my driver’s license changed and register to vote. I want to vote in the upcoming special election this December.”

  “Then your house here isn’t just so you have a place to stay when you visit Mia and Sean?”

  “Nope. My move here is permanent. I love California, but I miss the East Coast, and Mia and Sean aren’t the only family members I have living in Massachusetts. My grandparents still live here, as well as my aunts, uncles, and most of my cousins. And since I can write from anywhere, I’m going to stay here so I can be close to all of them.”

  She’d left him with a great opportunity to learn more about her without bringing up topics she didn’t want to discuss tonight. “What do you write?”

  Other than Mia, she never discussed her writing or her desire to become an author and screenwriter with anyone, and that included her mom and eldest sister. But not only did Dakota seem genuinely interested, she wanted to tell him about it and allow him to get to know her rather than the Angelina Troy the media sold to fans. Unfortunately, once she got going on the topic, it got away from her and she ended up monopolizing much of their conversation over a delicious dinner. If Dakota minded, though, he didn’t let on.

  “Yours or a rental?” he asked as they approached the driveway.

  “Rental. Until I figure out what I want, I’ll keep this.” She loved convertibles. At the moment, she had three different ones in her garage in California, but North Salem got snow in the winter. An SUV with all-wheel drive might be a better option for day-to-day driving.

  “If I were you, I’d consider something a little more substantial than this one. At least for during the winter.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” She used the key fob to unlock the doors and walked around to the driver side. “The tour starts at the Hamilton Hotel. Do you know where it is, or should I put the address in the GPS?”

  “It’s not too far from where we were last night.” He waited until she was behind the wheel before speaking again. “Did you book us the same tour your sister went on?”

  “Yep. She warned me it’s a long one, so I took her advice and wore sneakers.” He probably couldn’t see them, but she pointed at the dark purple canvas sneakers on her feet.

  Located on the corner of Washington Square and Derby Street, the Hamilton Hotel was an excellent example of the luxury hotels built in the early twentieth century.

  Dakota opened the glass door before she could touch the handle. “I’ve driven by this hotel, but I’ve never been inside. I heard they used it in a couple of horror movies back in the 70s. Supposedly it’s haunted.”

  Since the tour started here, that made sense. After all, why would you start a tour in a building that wasn’t rumored to be haunted when Salem had so many locations that were?

  He let the door go and reached for her hand. “Do you know where we’re supposed to meet the group?”

  “The website said downstairs in the library.” Before leaving for Dakota’s house, she’d spent about thirty minutes reading over the tour company’s website. Besides listing the various locations visited and giving some details about each of them, it gave some history about the city itself.

  With its low ceiling, wood-paneled walls, and nautical decorations, the library resembled a sea captain’s quarters on an old ship, or at least how they appeared in films. Lights shaped like old-fashioned lanterns hung on the walls, and a dark blue carpet covered the floor. Several comfy-looking chairs and a few tables occupied the room, making it an ideal spot for hotel guests to retreat and read a book or work. At the moment the room was empty except for the woman seated near a door marked Staff Only. When she spotted Dakota and Angie, she stood up.

  In a dark dress with long flowing sleeves, the woman wore her long, dark gray hair loose down her back. “Are you here for this evening’s tour?”

  “Yes, I made reservations this afternoon.” Angie pulled up the confirmatio
n number on her cell phone.

  The tour guide moved closer and slipped on the eyeglasses hanging around her neck. “Welcome. You’re a little early, but that’s fine. We have ten other people joining us tonight.” After checking the number against a list on her clipboard, she looked up at them and then down at her list again. “You’re not by any chance the Angelina Troy who stared in A Prince to Call Her Own? If you’re not, you look just like her.”

  She could give the woman the same line she’d given the waitress last night. But unlike last night, the guide had not just their confirmation number on her list but also their names. Rather than lie, something she still felt guilty about doing yesterday, she nodded. “I recently moved to the area.”

  The guide’s eyes tripled in size. “I can’t believe you’re going on one of my tours. I love your movies. A few weeks ago, I read they’re making a sequel to A Prince to Call Her Own. Will you be in it? The article said Chad DeMelo already signed on, but it didn’t mention you or Anderson Brady.”

  Since she was being honest, she got ready to tell the guide she wouldn’t be in the sequel. But the woman didn’t pause long enough for Angie to speak.

  “If you don’t, the movie won’t be the same without the two of you. The chemistry between you and Anderson jumped off the screen. And when the love scene near the end between you and Anderson came on, I thought I was going to go up in smoke. If you and Chad had done the scene I probably would’ve. Don’t get me wrong, Anderson is a cutie, but Chad’s my man.”

  Chad might have a slight edge on Anderson in the looks department, but his personality canceled it out. His fans might not know it, but Chad was a first-class ass. Anderson, on the other hand, was one of the nicest guys in the world.

  The woman checked her watch. “Would you mind taking a picture with me before the rest of the group arrives?”

  Honestly, she’d prefer not to, but unless impossible when a fan requested, she always obliged. “Sure.” Angie glanced at Dakota, who’d not made a sound or moved from his spot next to her. “Do you mind taking it for us?”

  “Nope.” He accepted the cell phone the guide retrieved.

  Dakota snapped a few pictures before handing the device back. The guide slipped the phone back into the small backpack on the floor before more voices let them know additional guests were on their way down.

  Not wanting to be the first person the other members of the group saw, Angie grabbed Dakota’s hand and dragged him toward the back of the library where the lighting was dim.

  “Love scene, huh?” he whispered in her ear. “It doesn’t sound like my usual type of movie, but I might have to check out A Prince to Call Her Own.”

  “She’s exaggerating. It wasn’t very steamy.”

  The look Dakota sent her suggested he wasn’t buying it.

  Near the front of the room, the guide welcomed the other members of the group to the tour. Not once did the woman glance their way or let on that Angie was any different from the other people booked for the evening’s tour. She hoped it stayed that way. Angie didn’t want to spend the night posing for pictures with strangers.

  Once the guide checked everyone in, she stepped in front of the wall lined with bookshelves. “Again, I want to welcome each of you and thank you all for choosing Bewitched Footsteps. My name is Missy Carr, and this is my tenth season doing tours for the company. If you’ve been on tours with us before, you’ll notice we’ve added a few new stops and temporarily removed a couple.”

  The lights in the room dimmed further.

  “But as always our tour tonight begins here at the Hamilton Hotel, where the spirit of ten-year-old Lizzie Scranton resides.”

  Angie remembered seeing the girl’s name mentioned on the website, but she hadn’t taken the time to read the story attached to it.

  “Long before they built the Hamilton Hotel in 1920, a prominent sea captain by the name of Gilbert Scranton built his home on this location. On his last trip across the Atlantic to England, Captain Scranton took his wife, Emma, with him, and they left their daughter, Lizzie, behind with her nanny. On their return trip home, their ship sank during a storm. Everyone on board perished. After the death of her parents, Lizzie bounced between various relatives for three years until she died from pneumonia at the young age of ten.”

  An extra-cold blast of air blew down on her from the air-conditioning vent in the ceiling. Whether coincidental or planned, the people in front of them started whispering amongst themselves.

  “For years residents of the Scranton home caught glimpses of Lizzie running up and down the halls. Even though the owners of the Hamilton tore the home down in 1919 to build the hotel, sightings of Lizzie never stopped. Countless people, including me and my husband, have seen her down here and on the third floor, waiting for her parents to return home.”

  Angie wasn’t sure whether or not she believed in ghosts, but she still glanced around the room like everyone else.

  “Our tour this evening will last approximately two hours and will take us all around Salem. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. If at any point you become too tired to finish, I understand. I can radio back and have a hotel shuttle come pick you up. All you need to do is let me know. Does anyone have any questions before we head out?” Missy looked around the room, but her eyes didn’t seem to linger on them longer than the other guests.

  A woman near the front raised her hand. “Can we take pictures while inside the buildings?”

  “In some of them, yes. Those stops that do not allow photography will have a sign posted. Anyone else?”

  When no one else spoke up, Missy waved toward the stairs. “Then everyone please follow me.”

  The steady hum of multiple conversations followed the group as it obediently filed up the stairs and across the lobby behind Missy.

  “What a sad story,” Angie whispered from their spot at the back of the group. She didn’t always get along with her mom, but she couldn’t imagine growing up without her.

  “Even now sailing across the ocean can be dangerous, and we have all kinds of technology. I think we forget how much more dangerous it was over a hundred years ago,” Dakota replied.

  Compared to the frigid temperature inside the library, the warm summer air was perfect. Before she could make the first move, Dakota slipped his arm around her waist, his hand settling on her hip. Despite the fabric between them, the heat from his hand burned through her shorts and caused her thoughts to travel away from the tour and to how hot his hand would feel against her bare skin.

  In front of them, the group came to a sudden stop. Behind Missy stood an old cemetery.

  “This is the first of three cemeteries we will visit tonight. The second will be The Burying Point Cemetery. It dates back to 1637 and is one of the oldest in the country. The final one will be the Howard Street Cemetery. Although that one wasn’t established until 1801, the location where the cemetery now stands is supposedly where Giles Corey was pressed to death in 1692.”

  Missy pointed to the area behind her. “This cemetery dates to 1779. Over the years people have seen many spirits wandering between the headstones and sitting on the bench under the maple tree. The most frequent sightings are of a young man and woman dressed in Civil War-era clothing. Local residents have long believed they are the spirits of Fitzgerald Wilson and Anne Montgomery.”

  Desiring more physical contact, Angie looped her arm around Dakota’s waist and tried to focus more on Missy’s story and less on what Dakota would look like sans clothing. It wasn’t an easy task.

  “The couple fell in love despite the fact that Anne came from a wealthy, prominent Salem family while Fitzgerald worked as a footman in a nearby mansion. Not long after the Civil War broke out, Fitzgerald joined the Union Army. He died during the battle of Gettysburg in July 1863. When Anne learned of his death weeks later, she committed suicide. Anne’s parents buried her here in the Montgomery family plot. Fitzgerald’s grave is unknown. The first sightings of Anne and Fitzgeral
d began a year after her death and have continued ever since. In fact, I saw them earlier this summer for the first time.” Missy gestured toward the open gate. “Please feel free to look around. We will exit through the gate at the far end of the cemetery.”

  “Talk about another sad story.” Dakota kept his voice low so no one else would overhear.

  She expected to hear several more before the night ended. “I think a lot of hauntings are attached to sad or devastating events.”

  They passed by the weathered headstones. Some she could read, but others appeared as nothing more than blank slabs, and unlike cemeteries still in use, there were no flowers or flags decorating each burial site. Regardless, the cemetery was well maintained.

  Once everyone was through the gate at the other end, Missy turned right. “Our second stop this evening will be the Turner-Ingersoll Mansion. Thanks to author Nathaniel Hawthorne, today most people know the house as The House of Seven Gables.”

  Angie included. Until this moment she’d assumed the home had always been called The House of Seven Gables. “Did you know it’s called the Turner-Ingersoll Mansion?”

  “Yeah, but only because I took a tour of the house about a year ago so I could check out the architecture.” Dakota’s warm breath teased her ear as he whispered, and she wished his breath was teasing other parts of her body.

  She’d gotten the impression he was interested in architecture last night. It sounded like she’d been right.

  Using today’s standards, few people would call the structure in front of them a mansion. Compared to the houses that would’ve been around it at the time, though, Angie understood how it earned the label.

  “I know you’re all anxious to go inside, but first I’d like to give you a little history about the home behind me. Captain John Turner built the house in 1668, and it is the oldest surviving seventeenth-century wooden mansion in New England. In 1782, Captain Samuel Ingersoll purchased the home. Upon the captain’s death, his daughter, Susanna Ingersoll, inherited the property. Many visitors have reported seeing Susanna Ingersoll, Nathaniel Hawthorne’s cousin, roaming the halls. There have also been reports of a boy running and playing up in the attic. I have never heard a boy running, but I have seen Susanna numerous times over the years. If we’re lucky, perhaps she will make an appearance tonight. Now, unless someone has a question, let’s head in.”