“I wasn’t talking about the waterfall. Don’t be like the other one.”
His eyes settle at my feet, then he walks past me, across the bridge, and into the forest. As soon as he’s out of sight, I start running back along the trail towards Pine Ridge.
Grace was right.
I need to lock my door at night.
CHAPTER TEN
When I arrive back at the cottage, I’m filthy, dehydrated, and exhausted. I strip off my work clothes and throw them into my enormous laundry pile, then walk naked out to the shower. I give the routine squeal as my body steps into the water, then quickly start washing.
The water is punishingly cold, though I know I’ll feel rejuvenated.
“Looking good!”
I yell with shock, then reach frantically for my towel. When I’m covered up, I step out and see Bradley standing on the veranda . He’s holding an apple in one hand, leaning against the frame.
“What the hell?”
His mouth hangs open for a moment, then he begins to laugh.
“That’s not funny!”
“Hold on, hold on.” He holds out his hand. “I was talking about the garden. The garden is looking good! Sorry, sorry. I can’t see into the shower, I swear. And I wouldn’t do that.” He looks distraught. “Look, I’ll give you a chance to get dressed.”
I walk up to the veranda and see he’s right—he couldn’t see into the shower. I point to the grass. “Wait outside.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As he wanders to the far end of the lawn, I go around the house to the front door, swearing to myself. Did I just accuse my boss of being a pervert?Good move, Brie. He’ll probably fire me just to avoid any future awkward interactions. Not that we see each other very often. Bradley leaves early in the morning for his commute to the city, and must come home after dark, by which point I’m always in bed.
I quickly change into track pants and a hoodie. Even though it’s hot, I feel the need to cover up my bare skin.
“I didn’t mean anything,” he begins, as I go back.
“It’s OK. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“I should have known better. You’re out here basically on your own. The last thing you want is your boss to be some kind of sexual predator.”
I repress a smile. Bradley’s wearing a blue shirt tucked into black woolen suit pants, his hair parted to the side, and glasses balanced on the edge of his nose. He doesn’t look like a predator so much as a nerd who’d fumble a bra strap.
“Don’t laugh!”
“I’m not. I just don’t think of you that way.”
“No?” He takes off his glasses and frowns at me. “How do you think of me, then?”
Great—now I’ve offended him again. First, I tell him he’s a pervert; next, I tell him he’s got the sex appeal of limp spinach. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Don’t let looks deceive you. I’m a poetry professor at a major university. Fifty years ago, a man in my position would be seducing young women as a full-time job.” He frowns at me, as if there’s the solution to a riddle buried in my features. “That’s allgone, of course, with the booze and the long lunches. I can’t say I’m disappointed. It all sounds a bit exhausting.”
I can’t think of anything to say, so I just stand there and try to keep a smile on my face.
“They say you need to speak to at least fifteen people per day to stay sane,” he continues. “Did you know that?”
It’s a loaded question. While Grace technically works from home, she seems to spend all her time in the attic, and we’ve hardly exchanged a word the entire week.
“What do you mean?”
