I slam on the brakes at her outburst, thinking we’re about to crash into something, and my arms band around her middle to hold her in place.
“You okay?” I ask her, looking in all directions. We have a large deer population on the property, so it wouldn’t surprise me if one dashed out in front of the car and scared her.
Douglass points out the front windshield. “Is that your house?”
Sitting at the top of the rise is the Hammond Estate. I brought us around the back from the field, using the network of dirt and paved roads Grandpa Jack had put in ages ago when he used to also raise cattle on the property.
“Fuck me,” she breathes quietly, and Jesus, the lascivious thoughts those two words conjure. I tell my dick, which is snuggled against her ass, to calm the hell down.
I forgot she’d never been to my house before. Only Amelia. And for reasons unknown, I’m dying to see Douglass’s reaction when we walk inside.
“Come on. I’ll show you around.”
Chapter 17
I’d heard about Jordan’s house from Amelia and from gossip at school, but this place is so massive, all I can do is stare at it in wonder. I’m half-tempted to pull out my phone and look at a satellite image from Google maps to see just how big it is compared to any of the surrounding houses. If there are any. The mansion must sit on a ton of acreage because there has been nothing but trees and grass and meticulously manicured grounds for as far as my eye can see.
I’m so lost in my awe, I jolt when the vehicle starts moving.
And then I lose my ever-loving mind.
Because I’m still sitting on Jordan’s lap.
How is it possible that I forgot that? But I honestly did. Between learning how to drive stick to seeing the Hammond Estate for the first time, my mind took a mini vacation. Jordan has also been… fun. Easy to be around. The cumulative effect of everything—his confession last night, breakfast this morning, the things he has said—is enough to burrow under my defenses. To make me dream and want things again I know will never come true. I blame the Wishing Tree. I blame my stupid, weak heart that still pines for him. I blame him for being even more devastatingly handsome than he was in high school. I blame his sweet words and the way he makes me tingle all over when he touches me.
The car comes to a stop in front of the house… mansion… whatever, and I take my first, full breath since laying eyes on the place from afar. The light cream limestone bricks of the Hammond mansion contrast with the dark-colored tile roof. The entire structure reminds me of the palatial British country manors I saw onBridgerton. There are east and west wings with attached four-car garages on either side of the main dwelling in a U-shaped configuration. The windows must have privacy film coating them because they’re mostly blacked out, making it impossible to see inside.
One of Woodspire’s few redeeming qualities is that there is no noticeable social divide between the haves and have nots. The kids at school who came from wealthy families, like Jordan and Chase, never treated those that didn’t differently. Too bad that concession didn’t extend toward appearances since I sure as hell was made an outcast because of my weight.
Once the engine is turned off, the silence in the car is unnerving.
I reach for the door handle so I can make my escape. “I think it’s safe to say that me driving your Jeep around isn’t going to happen.”
Which means, I’m still without a functioning car.
I push the door open and almost collapse to the ground in my haste to remove myself from his lap. I’m saved from a faceplant by Jordan’s grasp on my arm.
“Agreed. More lessons are needed. Until then, you can take the Tesla,” he says, climbing out behind me.
I’m glad I’m holding on to the car door because my legs give out. “You really are out of your mind.”
Me drive a half million-dollar car?
He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the house. “It literally drives itself anyway, so you’ll have no problem.”
Digging my heels into the paver stone, I try to pull back but it’s no use.
“Jordan, for Pete’s sake.” But the rest of my sentence gets swallowed up as soon as he opens the door to the house.
I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but a pristine museum in almost all white was not it. It’s so sterile. And empty. The only true splash of vibrant color in the foyer is one of Harper’s paintings hanging from the back wall. I know it’s hers because I’m obsessed with her work. I knew of Harper before I ever met her. She went viral on social media for a mural she painted called#NeverForgottenthat commemorated all the friends she and Bennett had lost in a school shooting that happened their senior year at Dearborne High. Needless to say, once I connected the dots after meeting her, I fangirled hard.
“I really love that,” I comment, studying the painting.
Harper used bold slashes of various blue and brown pigments to create a minimalist abstract that resembles swirled marble.
Jordan’s face breaks out with the biggest smile. “I’m giving her free rein to decorate the place. That painting was the first thing she hung after she and Bennett moved in,” he replies, placing his hand at my lower back and guiding me to the left.
As my head swivels around taking in everything as we walk, a sadness wraps around me. How lonely it must’ve been living in this huge house alone. Jordan lost everyone he loved—his mom, grandfather, best friend, and fiancée—in less than a year’s time.
