Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
“Right…” I gently transfer Marcellus to my palm. “Excuse me, I have to put my lizard to bed.”
I practically float up the stairs and down the hall to my bedroom. Lucas Young is moving in next door. I place Marcellus in his terrarium and then sink down into the fluff of my unmade bed, my mind and body swirling with conflicting emotions.
What’s the big deal? I tell myself. We’ve had tenants for as long as I’ve lived here. But the thought of this particular tenant working and sleeping and showering on the other side of the wall makes my skin feel hot all over.
This hardened criminal, a practical stranger, who’s old enough to be my dad but who looks at my lips like he wants to taste them… Do I really want this man living next door?
Yes, I think. Yes, I do.
three
LUCAS
It happens so fast I don't have time to think about what the consequences might be. Or maybe that's a cop out. Maybe I don't want to think about it, because for the first time in years, things are starting to swing my way.
I don't have much in the way of belongings, so move-in day is fairly straightforward. Still, Tatum volunteers to help me lug a few bags inside, and she seems happy to help. Eager, even. And I'm not about to pass up an opportunity to spend a little more time with her. I let her carry a duffel bag full of clothes, while I manage the few personal items I kept in storage while I was in prison.
The apartment is old, and whoever lived here last didn’t exactly help with the upkeep. The paint is flaking, there are holes and stains from where pictures were hung on the walls. The cabinet doors are all but falling off their hinges, and the Formica countertop linoleum is scuffed to hell. The carpet will need replacing, and don't even get me started on the bathroom.
But I’ve never been happier to move into an apartment in my entire life.
“I didn't realize what a shithole it was,” Tatum says, absently trailing a finger over a hole in the wall.
“Language,” I say, without thinking. She snaps to attention, and I see a pretty blush rise into her cheeks.
“Sorry, Dad,” she mutters. I tense, the title hitting a little too close to home. She continues her casual inspection of the apartment, but I'm not looking at the room. I'm looking at her, and the way the afternoon sunlight sets her skin aglow.
“I'm just grateful to be here, Tatum,” I say, inching closer to her. “I'm grateful for all the help you've given me.”
She arches one shoulder in a shrug, “Well, I figure, why not help someone, if I can?” She smiles, and when she does, she lights up the room. “Though I guess you should really be thanking my Aunt Nina.”
I chuckle. “I take it I passed her tea leaf test, huh?”
Tatum grins, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I guess so.” I'm close enough now that I can smell her, citrus sweet, like oranges. “We need to get you some furniture.”
“I can manage,” I say. But she just waves her hand.
“No, I have an idea. Come with me.”
And she takes my hand.
We hold hands all the way to my truck. I help her inside the cabin before climbing into the driver’s seat, my heart pounding like a hammer against my chest. She gives me directions, and we listen to the radio with the windows down until she tells me to pull off the main road. The day’s clear and bright, and the air smells sweetly of fallen leaves. It’ll get cold soon, but not yet.
We turn into a long, dirt drive, and I see a handmade sign that reads “Estate Sale: Saturday, 10 to 4.” And I understand.
“It’s one of my clients,” she explains. “My first client, actually. His grandmother passed recently, and they’re trying to get rid of as much as they can, as fast as they can.”
His grandmother, she says. My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Sorry to hear that,” I grumble, trying not to let the tension seep into my tone.
“The house just sold last week, so they need to clear out all her stuff.”
“He tell you all that during a haircut?”
I see her head swivel toward me in my peripheral.
“Talking to my clients is half the job,” she says, and I swear I can hear her smile.
I park beside a few other cars and then help Tatum climb out. Our shoes crunch on the gravel path to the front door. It is a nice enough home, modestly sized but comfortable, and as soon as we step foot inside, we’re met with warm greetings from, ostensibly, the grandson.
“Hey, Tater Tot.” He hugs Tatum, and I feel my hackles rise. “Good to see ya.”