Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“What?”
He yells louder. “I asked how your mom is doing.”
“Oh.” I shake my head with a frown. “Not great. They had to put her on a ventilator.”
We go back and forth for a few minutes, trying to have a conversation. But more than half the time we have to repeat ourselves. Eventually, Noah yells, “How about we get out of here, so we don’t have to scream? Maybe go to my place?”
He reads the wariness on my face without me having to say anything and leans to my ear again. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. I won’t try anything, if that’s not what you want. We can just talk, without having to yell.” He pulls back and winks. “Unless you decide otherwise. I really like it when you make the moves. It’s sexy as fuck.”
The first time we met, we had sex, and I almost left with him. The second time we were alone, I was on top of him ten minutes after we went inside the house. What are the chances we’re going to just talk? Though I do need to get closer . . .
“How about we go for ice cream instead?” I ask. “Or for a walk?”
Noah shrugs. “If that’s what you want. But I would love to show you the work I’m doing on my house. I’m renovating it top to bottom. Taking me forever, but I’m doing it all myself. I make furniture as a hobby. This is my first real construction project.”
He sounds sincere, but it’s not actually him I don’t trust. It’s me. I’ve been making some dumb decisions lately, present company included. I’m still debating, getting ready to decline the invitation, when he sweetens the offer.
“It’s not far. Only about two miles away. It was my parents’ house for thirty years, so I’m trying to update it and make it my own.”
My parents’ house.
I know where Mr. Sawyer lived. Drove past it enough times with Jocelyn back in the day. But I’ve never been inside. Maybe it holds the answers to all the questions I have. How can I say no?
I take a deep breath. “I’ll follow you in my car.”
Noah smiles like he’s just won a prize. “Excellent.”
The five-minute drive is nerve-racking. I consider calling Ivy on the way, telling her I’m about to go into his house. But her husband would probably ask who was on the phone, and then there would be a digital footprint connecting us since I don’t have my prepaid with me. I can’t be that sloppy, not now. Not after all these years.
My palms are a sweaty mess as we turn down Glenn Oak Drive. It’s a wide road, with bald cypress trees lining both sides of the paved blacktop. Ghostly gray tendrils of Spanish moss drape from one side of the road to the other, creating the feeling of going through a tunnel. It’s pretty during the day, eerie as hell at night. Especially when it’s leading to a place I’m dreading stepping into almost as much as I can’t wait.
We pull into the driveway, Noah’s red pickup first, me behind him. I look up at the familiar house and white-knuckle the steering wheel. It looks exactly the same as I remember.
Calm down, Elizabeth. He’s not in there.
He’s dead.
He’s fucking dead.
Noah walks to my car and opens the door, extends a hand to help me out. I take a deep breath before unfolding.
“Don’t look at the outside,” he says. “That’ll be the last thing I get to.”
Once I’m standing, he doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he laces our fingers together for the walk to the front door. I’m not a hand-holder. But I don’t pull away because there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll pass out before we get to the door. My breaths are coming in short, shallow spurts, and I’m lightheaded and nauseous.
Noah creaks open the rickety door, reaches inside, and flicks on the lights. He extends a hand for me to walk in ahead of him.
“Ladies first . . .”
I manage to put one foot in front of the other. I’m not sure what I expected—dark, gloomy rooms packed with musty furniture covered by sheets, cobwebs hanging all over—but it’s nothing like I’d imagined. The first room we enter is bright and airy, with high ceilings, walls painted creamy off-white, and wide-plank oak flooring. A sweeping staircase is off to one side, and there’s even a big, rustic-looking chandelier hanging in the center.
“It used to have eight-foot ceilings, but I opened up the first and second floor to make it one. Probably going to regret it when the August air-conditioning bills start rolling in, but I like the way it makes me feel when I enter.”
“It’s really beautiful.”
He points up to the ceiling, to a giant skylight I hadn’t noticed. “During the day, I get a ton of sun, so I don’t need to turn on any lights at least.” Noah puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me to the next rooms. There’s a big kitchen with a new double island, a laundry room, formal dining room, and two bedrooms. Every room is in a different phase of construction. Upstairs, he shows me two more bedrooms, one of which is the only room not under construction so far. It’s where he sleeps, but it has only a basic frame holding a mattress because he put all the other furniture in storage.