She chuckles, tearing her eyes away from the pad to meet mine. “We’re in Ashwick. Everyone knows everyone.”
I arch a brow. “You know what I mean.”
She sighs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk. “He was my big high school crush,” she explains. “Honestly, I think everyone knew I liked him. But the timing never worked out until after we graduated, and now . . . well, here we are.” She’s smiling when she looks back up at me, and unfortunately, I can see how much she likes him just by the dreamy look in her eyes.
“How long have you been together?”
“About nine months.” Almost a year. Great. I really hope his whole sleazebag act is just that—anact, and that he’s more loyal than he appears. “So,” she says, flashing me pearly white teeth, “Dylan and I are participating in the winter festival, and I think you should come! We’ll have our own booth and—”
Just as I’m about to interrupt with a made up excuse, the phone rings and saves the day. I really don’t want to lie to her, but my desire to be stuck behind a booth as Dylan ogles over other girls when Claire’s not looking is probably right up there with stabbing my eyeball.
Claire frowns. “Sorry, better get that.”
“It’s fine,” I whisper, grabbing my bags as she puts the phone to her ear. “I’ll talk to you later.” She waves, and I head up the stairs.
I take my time with the photographs I’d just picked up, carefully pressing them into small frames and figuring out the right places to set them. There’s one picture that’s always been my favorite, and I decide to fix that one in the center of the fireplace mantle. It’s the perfect spot; facing the bed when I wake in the morning and still visible when I enter my room. I play with the angle a little, then drop my hands and take a step back, admiring the image.
Grams sits on the front porch I know so well, perched on the top step and wearing her wistful smile, brown eyes wise and at peace. Mom is right beside her, grinning, legs crisscrossed and one arm draped over Grams’s shoulders, the other arm hugging her perfectly round belly . . . hugging me. Dad’s leaning over Mom, embracing her tightly and beaming in a way that’s remarkably whole.
I wipe the corner of my eye before the tear can fall, then press a kiss to my fingers, and my fingers to the photograph. “I miss you guys,” I whisper, wishing they could hear the words.
Straightening my spine, I take in a deep breath and lift my chin. I don’t know when, or if,he’sgoing to show up today, but if it’s anything like the past few days, I’m guessing I have no more than an hour. I should probably take a bath sooner rather than later so it doesn’t look like I’m making a move on him. Again.
My time in the bath is filled mostly with thoughts about the notes I found at Mr. Blackwood’s place. I still don’t know what to do about those, or if I should do anything at all. How could I ignore them though? Best case scenario, I ask the old man about it, and it turns out to be something really silly. He’ll probably hate me for prying, maybe even put my job on the line, but at least I’d know no one’s in trouble. Worst case scenario, the messages turn out to be even more serious than I’m willing to imagine.Ugh. I rub my temples, then lay back and rinse the rest of the conditioner from my hair. Any way I look at it, I know I can’t ignore them. Even now, the letters flash like neon lights in my brain whenever there’s nothing to distract me.
I AM NOT DEAD.
I CAN’T HOLD ON.
SAVE ME.
No, I won’t ignore them. I’ve made my choice. At some point during this coming week, I’m confronting Mr. Blackwood about them. Satisfied with my decision, I pull myself from the water and towel dry, patting myself down before dressing in a comfy pair of shorts and an oversized top. I withdraw my new, black phone from its shopping bag and scroll through the apps.
Really, I should be emailing my realtor back. I have two notifications from him, both subject lines readingInterested Buyer!But those two words aren’t pleasing me like I thought they would. What they do manage to do is close my throat up and tighten my chest. So instead, I happily ignore the emails and download a music app.
It’s been way too long since I’ve blasted music, and the anticipation already has me feeling lighter. I hit play, smiling when Ed Sheeran’sShape of Youblares through the speakers.
Closing my eyes, I let the beat run all the way through me.God, I’ve missed you, music. My head rolls forward, then side to side as I slowly soak it in. I inhale, feeling my muscles loosen as they respond to the lull, and start a smooth sway in my hips. Side to side, like my head, and then my feet are feeling it too.
I’m lost in the melody, consumed by the hypnotic spell only the magic of music can induce, the curves of my body moving without thought. Hips swaying, right, left, right, left, head falling back so my hair tumbles down my back. My body gets warmer as I move, a fire burning through my veins. My teeth grab hold of my bottom lip, and I think my hands are in my hair, when I hear the low, raspy sound of a throat being cleared.
I jump, my hand snapping to my chest, until my now wide eyes land on him, and I relax. “Shit,” I manage, breathless.
I honestly don’t know what’s knocked the breath out of me more—the dancing, or the way he’s looking at me right now.
He’s leaning against my dresser, his left forearm resting on the top and his head tilted just slightly, thick eyelashes shadowing specks of green as he watches me. His lips though, they send my pulse into overdrive. They’re hooked up lazily at one corner, just enough to display that single dimple he let me glimpse last night. It’s a simple look, but seeing it on him, and knowing it’s aimed at me, it reminds me of the last words he spoke to me.Sometimes . . . I don’t want to leave.My stomach flips, full somersault.
“Hi,” he says, his voice both gentle and hypnotic.
I smile, already roped in and unable to look away. “Hi.”
Chapter 25
Irealizeafter a second I’m still frozen in place, so I stroll over to my phone and lower the volume until it fades into the background. I turn to him. “I didn’t hear you.”
He’s still wearing that hint of a crooked smile. “Decided to give your furniture a break.”
I quirk an eyebrow, my heart skipping a beat as I take in his words. “Did you just make a joke?”
