Nightfall (Devil's Night, #4)

by Penelope Douglas

I scooped up some nails and pliers, pausing as I thought about that tiny gazebo. A roof like a witch’s hat and constructed using aged materials that I’d salvaged from St. Killian’s long after it was abandoned. I’d wanted it to look used. Like it had always been there, maybe even before the town. It wasn’t my best work, but it was my first, and finishing it was more of an accomplishment than I thought it would be. It took so much longer than it should’ve because I stopped caring about everything, including my work, for so long. I went months without touching it, deliberately avoiding the village so I didn’t have to see it, and eventually, I’d forced the finish, getting it done without the chandeliers I’d dreamed about, because it would’ve been too painful to remember him every time I looked at it. I didn’t want to build or design. I didn’t want to do anything because of him. Nothing else mattered as I mourned the loss. But I got it done. When I finally resumed my work, it was because, once again, I’d pulled myself up to my feet. Like the coffee table books, the gazebo was another trophy I collected for living another day. But I’d never see it again. It wasn’t there anymore.