I’ve just put the kettle on the stove for tea when there’s a loud knock at the door.
Oof.
Normally, that’s Granny Lark, the sweet old lady up the street and my bestie’s grandmother, wanting to catch up with me. But it’s late, and she’s normally bedding down after eight o’clock.
This weird psychic sense in my brain tells me not to open the door. Turn the lights out. Pretend I’m not home.
But what if itisGran and she needs a hand with something? Wouldn’t be the first time she had a few bags of soil or mulch delivered and she needs my help to lift them due to her knee injury.
I’m not feeling sensible tonight. I’m tired and grouchy, and my feet are barking like angry huskies. It doesn’t sink in that it could be dangerous until I throw the door open and see my worst nightmare.
Effing Harry.
Just as tall and obnoxious as I remember. That long waxed mustache that should’ve stayed in the last century gives him a cartoon-villain vibe.
“Lena.” He bares his teeth in what might be considered a smile on another planet.
Not here. Not now.
My body stiffens, bristling to face the threat before my brain catches up.
“What are you doing here?” I spit, making sure I sprawl out to block the doorway.
“Hello to you too, doll. Aren’t you going to invite me in for old times’ sake?”
What is he, a vampire?
“No. What do you want, Harry?”
“Aw, jeez. I’m just here to talk.” His grimace-smile widens.
“Then talk.” It takes monster restraint not to addassholeto the end.
Maybe that’s why he stares at me like he wants to feed me into a wood chipper.
Believe me, it’s mutual.
When he sees I’m serious and I’m not budging, he folds his arms and lets the plastic smile drop a little. A good thing, so I’m not blinded by his overwhitened teeth.
I blink, a little too fast.
“I spoke to our friend Dr. Ezzie earlier,” he says. My bravado deflates like a dying old balloon.
Crap.
I should’ve known the only reason he’d show up is to pressure me or rub his disgusting triumph in my face.
I frown. “How’d you even know I’d be here?”
“Oh, let’s not worry about that. You’re a smart girl, and it’s your mom’s old house. Wow, you haven’t changed athing, have you?” He leans in closer.
I get a whiff of his cologne, so strong it knocks me back.
Or is it the past sweeping in like an ice-cold wave?
God.
There’s a reason people say scent provokes the strongest memories. I think this smell throws me through time and space. Even if he’s older and meaner and richer now, he still wears that same damn fragrance.
