Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
And now that she’s admitted it to me, I suppose we should talk about it. Maybe I do need the absolution, and I won’t ever doubt her if she says she needs closure.
I nod. “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and pack a bag. But I’m only staying for the night.”
CHAPTER 4
Corinne
“You didn’t tell me your home was so far away,” Clay grumbles from the passenger seat of my Jeep.
“You didn’t ask,” I counter, which I know isn’t earning me any bonus points.
There is no mistaking Clay’s reluctance about coming with me. I definitely had to use his own guilt against him to get him to agree to it. But I’m tired of walking on eggshells. While he may not have returned the feelings I’d developed for him, I would still very much like to be friends with this man.
Of course, we’re not off to the greatest start. I head southeast out of the city, letting Clay have his silence during the ride. The things we need to talk about are deep and attempting light chitchat will just seem awkward.
“Where exactly are we going?” he finally asks, a topic that’s safe enough.
“I live near a town called Somerset in the Laurel Highlands,” I explain. To fill in the silence, I educate him on the geography since he just moved here. “It’s part of the Allegheny Mountains. Somerset County boasts the tallest mountain in Pennsylvania, Mount Davis.”
“Why so far out of the city?” he asks. “I mean, the scenery is stunning, but that’s quite a commute.”
“I don’t know,” I reply. But after a moment of thought, I realize I do. “I guess I just don’t enjoy big-city life much anymore. The commute isn’t that bad. Besides, I’m able to work from home sometimes. My job with Jameson doesn’t require normal eight-to-five type hours.”
I could go on to explain I derive peace from the solitude my fifteen acres affords me. The mountain scenery—whether it be lush green in the summer, a riot of warm colors in the fall, or covered in white in the winter—makes me feel more calm and relaxed.
I could say it’s my meditation of sorts, and I feel lighter and freer here.
But everything I get out of my new home and where it’s located is directly related to the demons I run from, and that would lead into the heavy, deeper conversation that is soon to come once we are settled there.
So I spend the rest of the trip describing the variety of activities to do around the area, including my newfound love of fly fishing. When we drive through Somerset, I point out the best place to get pizza and the bar that has the coldest beer in town.
“Shanksville is near here, right?” Clay asks.
Solemnly, I nod. “About fifteen minutes due east.”
The place where United 93 went down on 9/11.
Clay doesn’t respond, so I don’t say anything more as I drive through Somerset and out into what most would consider the boonies. The road I live off is barely wide enough to fit two cars, and it has no white or yellow paint to even delineate lane boundaries. I slow my car, then turn on the right blinker. It’s hard to see my driveway when all the bushes, trees, and wildflowers grow right up to the edge of the road in the summer. But the starkness of winter makes it easily identifiable.
“You live here?” Clay asks, disbelief and curiosity threaded through his tone.
My driveway is more like a dirt path leading straight into the woods, with two parallel ruts worn into the ground by my vehicle. However, it’s filled with gravel to help with traction.
“It’s pretty rough out here,” I admit, patting my dashboard. “Which is why I have the Jeep. But I’ll pave it at some point.”
We bump along for almost a mile, the path winding upward. When we come out of a sharp right turn, Clay gasps as my house comes into view.
“Wow,” he murmurs as he takes in the A-frame log cabin I’d had custom-built, which had only been finished about two months ago. The entirety of the triangular front piece is glass—from the bottom floor to the third-floor loft. While it’s not visible now, he’s going to be treated to a breathtaking view of the Alleghenies as far as the eye can see when the sun comes up. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It’s my design,” I reply proudly, bringing my car to a stop in front of the detached garage that has a covered walkway to the main house. “I mean, I had an architect and everything, but it’s my dream house.”
“So, this is your forever place then?”
I push the button to the garage door opener attached to my visor, then wait for it to roll up. This allows me to give him my full attention. “I’m ready to put down roots. I love my job, and I’ve come to love this area in a very short time.”