Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Rhett carries the TV inside, then walks onto the porch, dusting his hands off on his jeans. It’s been two hours, and everything is inside except a couple of boxes.
“Thank you, Rhett,” I murmur.
He turns to me, dark eyes flitting up and down my body. Am I imagining that, or do I just want it to be true?
“Don’t mention it,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed some paper.”
I roll my eyes. “We’d better call the cops.”
He chuckles, and I smile tightly. It feels too good to make him laugh. “It’s my number,” he says. “Just in case you need anything else.”
I reach up and close my hand around the paper. His rough hand brushes mine, and a spark runs up my arm. It’s electric and dangerous. I snatch my hand away.
Mira leaps up, skips over, and takes the paper from him. “Thank you, neighbor,” she says, her voice like sunlight through clouds on a murky day.
“I’ll take the rest of this inside,” Rhett says, keen eyes scanning me again, up and down, from my toes to the top of my head as if he likes what he sees.
“I’ll keep this very, very safe,” Mira says, folding the paper carefully.
When Rhett smiles down at her, she brightens, beaming up at him.
That ice around my heart creaks and groans as I watch my little sister open up for the first time in months.
I rush down the porch steps. “I’ll get the last few boxes, Rhett. You’ve done enough.”
“It’s no troub—”
“I said I’ll do it,” I cut him off.
As I lean down to pick up the box, a terrifying idea grips me. I don’t know this man, and I’ve just turned my back on him and Mira. I look over my shoulder, still bent at the hip.
Rhett isn’t looking at Mira. He’s looking at me, staring, as if memorizing every detail, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling as if he’s struggling to contain some emotion I’m not sure I want to identify. When he sees me looking, he quickly glances away.
But it’s too late. I saw.
My cheeks flush, making me appear like a naive know-nothing whose life a man hadn’t obliterated a year ago. I’m here for a new start with my sister, not to do… whatever this is.
I carry the box up the porch, nodding at Mira. “Go inside and get washed up for lunch.”
“Can Rhett stay for lunch?” Mira asks sweetly.
“No,” I say with too much force in my voice, instantly regretting it.
She sighs and sticks her thumb in her mouth. I don’t have it in me to tell her she’s too old for thumb sucking. I turn to Rhett. He shifts, as if debating taking the box from me, but the look in my eye must be enough to make him stop.
“Thanks for the help.”
He nods. “Thanks for letting me help.”
I snort out a laugh.
“Something funny about that?” he says.
It’s the thing sinful men say to seem like a good guy.
“No,” I say.
His lips curl into a smirk, and his eyes glint. “Then I guess you’ve got some kind of spontaneous laughing condition?”
I turn away so he won’t see my smile. “Have a good day, Rhett.”
He tips an imaginary hat. “You too, Elle.”
I carry the box inside and drop it heavily onto the table. Mira is sitting on the arm of the couch with her arms folded, glaring at me.
I rub my forehead, feeling bone tired. I told him to go, so it’s not like I can be annoyed he left, and I can't resent him for it… what? Fighting for the right to have lunch with a stranger?
“That was rude, Sissy.”
I look at my baby sister. Even if she’s mad, I will not ignore her. All this talking is pure magic.
“What was?”
“He did all that helping and we didn’t even give him any food. I could’ve made him a sandwich. I’m good at making sandwiches.”
“I know you are.”
“Very, very rude,” she pouts.
“I’ll make us something to eat.”
“Not hungry,” she snaps, walking toward the hallway.
“Mira, wait—”
She ignores me and walks on. A moment later, her door slams.
I sigh. She’s a confused kid who doesn’t fully understand why our lives blew up last year.
She doesn’t get it: a smile, a lunch, it can lead to obsession and chaos, and so much more pain. The wounds we already carry might never fully heal.
CHAPTER 3
RHETT
Back home, I do my usual checks: cameras, perimeter alarms, booby traps in case someone somehow got through all my other defenses. Once I’m done, I collapse into bed, sore from my long night and a very confusing morning.
Helping my neighbor was supposed to be a good deed. Nothing else. But as I carried her things inside, I’m sure I felt her watching me. And when she leaned down to pick up that box, I couldn’t help but stare.