tilwemeetagain

Copyright 2011 by
Stacey Kennedy
(Story from the anthology Kissed from Beyond)

“
‘
Til We Meet Again” copyright 2011 by Stacey Kennedy

Cover Artist: PJ Edwards

Cover Art copyright 2011 PJ Edwards

ISBN -
978-0-9865931-6-1 

‘
Till We Meet Again
,
are work
s
of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors
’
imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher
and individual author
, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.

For so many years, isolated days and nights, Ethan had been stuck in purgatory. He
’
d been shuffled from home to home, living among people who were at first strangers, but became constant companions over time. For close to ten years now he
’
d called Twilight Antiques in Savannah, Georgia, his home.

The shopkeeper, Mrs. Higgins, finished her Sunday morning routine of putting the new antiques out she obtained at auction. He
’
d never grown attached to her, because she had no connection to him. In her seventies, wrinkles canvassed her skin and Ethan had watched them grow deeper throughout the years. Beneath the sign of her age, soft pale blue eyes still held the beauty of a warm woman. Her silver hair, cut prim and proper, sat in tight curls atop her head, like women of her age nowadays. She might be elderly, however, she still took pride in her appearance.

The antiques held monetary value. To Mrs. Higgins, they were much more than that—a piece of history to be cherished.

Like him.

Not an emotional attachment, a physical one. He couldn
’
t quite explain the reason his soul never crossed over after he died in the Civil War. Instead, he became bound to a chaise lounge he
’
d favored in the years he walked the earth. Without anyone to ask how or why, his life¯or death¯had become timeless.

He
’
d grown bored of watching decades ago.

The front door to the store chimed, drawing Ethan away from his thoughts as he lingered on the chaise. He sighed. Another customer to walk through the store and not give a second look at the chair he once loved, and still did.

“Hello there,” Mrs. Higgins said, greeting the woman.

“Hi,” a small, sweet voice responded in a tone Ethan found charming.

In all his time at the shop, he
’
d yet to see anyone walk through those doors who
caught his eye. On the rare occasions a younger woman came into the store, none though, appealed to him on a physical level.

If he stood, he
’
d tower over her delicate frame. Her long, chocolate brown hair stood out against her pale skin, except for the pinkish tinge on her cheeks and baby blue eyes that held a note of sweetness.

He might be a ghost, nevertheless, a man still resided in his soul, and she, a woman to behold. Her beauty mesmerized him.

“How can I help you, my dear?” Mrs. Higgins asked in a rich southern accent.

“Have you heard of the Landsby home?” the woman asked.

Ethan could tell her heritage didn
’
t come from Savannah. She sounded American, yet not from around these parts.

“Yes, dear, are you the new owner?”

The woman shook her head. “No, Mrs. Nash is the owner. I
’
m the interior designer she hired.”

“Oh, so you
’
re here to furnish the house?”

The woman nodded. “I
’
m not from around here—”

“Where are you from, dear?” Mrs. Higgins interrupted.

“New York.” The woman smiled. “And the name is Cassandra Cole¯
Cassie.”

Ethan studied Cassie. All the
dear
comments seemed to displease her. What bothered her so? She fascinated him and he hadn
’
t been interested in anything or anyone for some time. How intriguing.

“Well, Miss Cassie,” Mrs. Higgins went on. “What can I help you with today?”

Cassie glanced around the store before meeting Mrs. Higgins gaze again. “Mrs. Nash decided the theme for the Landsby house should reflect its history. She wants to restore the home to its original condition.”

“A wise decision,” Mrs. Higgins agreed.

“So. . . .” Cassie looked around at the store. “I have some shopping to do.” She glanced back to Mrs. Higgins. “Do you have¯or know of¯a rental truck for hire to
deliver what I purchase here today?”

“Mr. Pitts does deliveries for me. I
’
ll call him now and see he comes by with the truck soon to help you.”

Cassie smiled. “Thank you.”

She strode around the store, looking at the items spread out, and Ethan stayed with her. In fact, he drew in close and stood mere inches from Cassie watching a deep shudder run through her. “You
’
ve got a draft in here,” she called out to Mrs. Higgins.

Busy talking on the phone, Mrs. Higgins didn
’
t respond.

Ethan leaned away from Cassie to let the warmth wash over her body again, yet continued to study her. She appeared so focused, so determined, and so adorable.

His cold soul lit up with a heat he
’
d long yearned for.

* * *

A month passed since Cassie left her home in New York City to accept the job to build her design portfolio. A complete restoration of a Victorian home, not something she could
’
ve passed on. Besides, Mrs. Nash had offered her a ridiculous amount of money. Too many goods came from the job.

She missed home, though. Staying in a house under renovations didn
’
t appeal to her, but the contractors she
’
d hired finished today and she
’
d have the peace she sought. The physical renovations she could do without. Walls re-plastered, paint applied, all the wood in the home, including the hardwood floors, refinished. Now, onto the part she lived for, the reason she got into interior design. Giving a home personality with furniture and accents gave her a high like nothing else.

Mrs. Higgins seemed sweet enough, but if she called her
dear
once more, she
’
d blow a gasket. Such endearments weren
’
t for her. Granted, she looked younger than her twenty-five years, calling her such things though made her feel like a child. She
’
d worked hard to get here, put in long hours to prove herself capable. Hell, she
’
d moved into the empty house to renovate it while Mrs. Nash stayed in South Carolina. Being treated like an equal was not something she wanted, but
demanded
.

Mrs. Higgins, approached her. “Mr. Pitts will be along soon with the truck.”

“Wonderful,” she said, happy she wouldn
’
t have to lug all the furniture to the house herself. She scanned the antique shop, pleased with what she saw. “You have some wonderful pieces here.” An aged distressed dresser caught her eye, perfect for the vintage theme.

“Ahh, a beautiful piece I obtained not long ago,” Mrs. Higgins said. “Does the dresser interest you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Mrs. Higgins spun on her heels. “I
’
ll grab a piece of paper and we
’
ll write down what you want so Mr. Pitts and his crew can load them up.” The woman hurried off and Cassie chuckled to herself. Clearly, the store made small
sales and Mrs. Higgins
’
eagerness to sell off some of the larger pieces showed in her fast pace. Moments later, the woman returned, clipboard in hand.

Cassie strode around the store to find treasures of all kinds. Her imagination ran wild with the design. “I
’
ll take these two wing back chairs.” Not looking back at Mrs. Higgins, she heard the pen moving against the paper.

“You do realize they don
’
t match?”

“Victoria-themes don
’
t require matching furniture. In fact, the design works better if they don
’
t.”

“If you say so, dear. I love the era, however, don
’
t know much about design,” Mrs. Higgins replied with a shake of her head.

Cassie continued on, choosing items to fill the home. Tables, throws, a couch, pillows, any item she thought would add to the home
’
s beauty. Last week, she
’
d bought a four-poster bed from a furniture store on the other side of town. A near impossible find at an antique shop, along with the outrageous price. Sticking to a modern piece of furniture fit her budget. She needed a place to sleep while staying at the house, so finding a bed had been her top priority the moment she arrived.

Not fifteen minutes later, Cassie stopped at a gorgeous chaise lounge. Fitted with crimson velvet, the fabric looked rich against the dark wood edging.

“Ahh, a real treasure,” Mrs. Higgins admired.

Cassie wanted to agree, although her mouth wouldn
’
t function. A cold wave washed over her, freezing her in place. Not a draft, but
something
made her stop.

The piece of furniture held power, compelling her to purchase the chaise. The reaction stunned her. She
’
d never been fond of chaises. Fine for reading, nothing more. “Do you know the history of the chair?”

“Oh, I
’
ve had it now for well over ten years.”

Surprise widened Cassie
’
s eyes. The well-worn piece didn
’
t look at all comfortable. Why would she hold onto it for so long? “Why not get rid of it?”

A slow smile spread across Mrs. Higgins
’
face causing her wrinkles to hide her eyes. “All the pieces here have a history, my dear. To trash them, a grave travesty. I couldn
’
t throw away something once beloved.” She shook her head and clucked. “No, not an option to me.”

Cassie glanced back to the chaise and approached it again. She trailed a hand down the wood lining the sides and the cold air swirled around her again. Yet, a warm glow touched her soul. A sign she
’
d discovered a real treasure, however the chair would be more of an accent piece than a focal point.

She sat down on the uncomfortable lounge. The coldness in the air increased the longer she sat, still though, the warm glow of excitement stayed with her. In fact, it grew.

Whether it suited the home or not, the piece belonged to her. Might be a strange choice, but Cassie didn
’
t doubt herself. Her instincts never failed her. Something special lived in the chaise even if she couldn
’
t put her finger on it.