Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
His father flinched, ever so slightly, but Sig caught it. “You won’t find . . . anything you can use.”
“We’ll see.” Sig started to climb back into the driver’s side of the truck, but he paused with a growled curse, remembering the other reason he’d driven three hours. “Listen. I need you to get me a blouse out of Chloe’s closet. Black-and-white silk. High, ruffled neck.”
“What?” Harvey exclaimed.
“Just do it.”
Ten minutes later, the truck engine blasted to life and Sig got back on the highway to Boston, blouse draped over the passenger seat, the words “you won’t find anything you can use” echoing loudly in his ears.
He refused to believe that was true.
Because if it was, where did that leave him?
Without her. That’s where.
A place he couldn’t fathom being.
Chapter Ten
Chloe peeked her head into the building to make sure the coast was clear, before sneaking into the vestibule and soundlessly opening her mailbox. A stack of envelopes and a Free People catalog dropped into her hand and she quickly stuffed the mail into her purse, making a mental note to show them to Sig later. Just to make sure there wasn’t anything important, like a bill. He was always complaining about bills being paid late, but nothing ever really happened when they were late, as far as she could tell.
Except for the rent.
Now when that was late, her landlord let her know all about it. In fact, that was the only time she ever saw Angry Raymond. On the seventh or eighth of the month when the rent check hadn’t been dropped off yet, he seemed to sense when she entered the building and he would spring forth from his apartment like a haunted jack-in-the-box, shouting words like “late fees” and “grace period.”
Holding her breath, Chloe climbed the first few steps, wincing when the step let out a tiny whine—and like clockwork, Raymond shot out of his doorway like a demented whack-a-mole character in socks and sandals.
“Ms. Clifford—”
“I know. I know. I’ll drop it off tomorrow!”
“It was due last week.”
Chloe gasped. “It was?”
His withering sigh was mightier than the North Wind. “Why don’t you give me Mr. Sig’s number. I’ll sort it out with him.”
She was already shaking her head. “No, we cannot tell Mr. Sig. Mr. Sig does not need to know.”
Chloe knew the exact look Sig would give her if he found out the rent was overdue. She’d seen it before. Three times to be precise, which didn’t seem like a lot until you considered she’d only lived in Boston for six months. He’d tilt his head to the right and narrow his left eye. “What am I going to do with you, Chlo?” he’d ask, fondly exasperated.
A heavy weight settled on her chest. She hadn’t heard from him since yesterday, when she’d half kicked him out of her apartment, which was highly unusual. He usually sent her a good morning text, a filthy meme, or simply showed up with breakfast. Something. Yes, she was standing firm on what she’d said. The romantic nonromance that complicated their relationship was becoming too painful to bear. But that truth didn’t stop her from missing him in epic fashion, as she did now. Worrying she’d acted too impulsively and hurt their bond.
Please don’t let me have done that.
“I think Mr. Sig does need to know,” said her landlord. “He is the responsible one.”
“You wouldn’t really squeal on me, would you, Raymond?” Chloe didn’t even have to force a hitch into her voice. “I just used a teeny tiny bit of my rent money to buy eye creams—”
He threw up his hands. “Eye creams? More than one?”
“Yes! You must test them out to know which one is right for you! But wait until you hear how I’m going to solve this.” She came down a step and attempted to engage her landlord with a conspiratorial smile, thanking God when he blushed at least a little. “I’m giving online harp lessons. I gave one just this morning, actually.”
Not that she’d run it past the university.
Had Chloe committed a crime by setting up her laptop in the practice room before anyone had arrived and gave a quick little one-hour lesson to Brandy in Duluth? No.
Although . . . probably.
“I’m giving another one tomorrow and then I’ll have enough in my account to cover the rent.” She wiggled her calloused fingers at him. “I’m working on it—I promise.”
Raymond hedged. And he harrumphed.
Almost there. I’m going to buy myself one more day.
The last thing she wanted was to bother Sig about her late rent. After all, he was already depositing enough money into her account every month to cover the payment. Expecting him to shell out even more cash wouldn’t be cute.
“You have until tomorrow. Then I’m calling Mr. Sig.”
“It won’t come to that, I promise! Have I ever broken a promise?”