Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Yes, even though my thoughts were a little more innocent.
I was only a kid when I’d wake up after midnight and creep down through the house, too curious what stupid things Ethan and his bestie got up to after dark.
I’d wind up sitting on the stairs and clutching the railings, watching them, eavesdropping on their conversations about girls and games and how they were so close to grinding their way to their first million dollars.
Sometimes, the boys would come home after sneaking beer or Jacobin moonshine at parties with the older kids and pass out early. They never saw me when I’d perch in my spot, looking down below at Grant’s huge body sprawled out in his sleeping bag on the floor of our living room.
He was big even then.
The sleeping bag was actually two bags unzipped and layered around him like a Grant sandwich because he couldn’t fit inside a normal one. Even then, he slept with one thick arm and leg flung out on the floor, his handsome face scowling in his sleep.
I still see that gorgeous, angry boy in the broad lines of Grant’s back as he moves up the stairs ahead of me.
It’s funny.
No matter how surly he seems, I’ve never seen him use that strength to hurt anyone.
Upstairs, he guides me down a narrow, blue-carpeted hallway, tapping doors as he goes.
“Things have moved around a little since the last time you were here. Nell’s room,” he says, then the next one, “My room. Bathroom across the hall.” He stops at the last door at the very end of the hall kitty-corner to his room and pushes the door open. “Your room. Laundry’s still in the basement if you need it.”
“Great, thanks.”
He swings my suitcase through the door and drops it just inside off to one side before stepping out of the way to let me in. I brush past him, trying not to be too aware of how that leaves me tingling.
I step into a sunny, neat room with a queen bed covered in homey quilts in various shades of green hexagons, from forest to soft pastel sea green. White lace curtains, a dresser, and a trunk in matching grey ash wood, cozy throw rugs scattered around.
The place is simple, neutral, clean, and cozy.
That’s Grant, all right.
Makes sense when this used to be his room when he was a kid.
It hits me that I’ll be sleeping in the same room he’s laid in every night before his parents moved out and he took over the master bedroom.
But I really shouldn’t think about that.
Behind me, he clears his throat.
“Listen, this house is old and I’m working on fixing up the insulation. Still gets drafty at night even when the furnace kicks on. There’s an electric blanket in the trunk, if you need it. If you’re still too cold with that, then I’ll buy you a new one.”
I turn back to face him.
There he is, standing awkwardly in the doorway, scrubbing the back of his neck with one hand and looking anywhere but at me.
The big moose cares so much.
I can’t help a small smile.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine with the electric blanket. Jeez, I feel like me being cold all the time is turning into a running gag,” I say. “Thanks, though. You don’t have to go to the trouble.”
His expression darkens into a smoky glare.
“It’s no trouble. You ain’t trouble, Philia.”
I blink quickly and duck my head.
Wow.
Now I’m the one being awkward and turning away as I blush.
“I, um... thanks.”
Way to go, Ophelia.
There’s a long silence before he grunts and tosses his head. “Right. I’m gonna start dinner. Come on down once you’re settled in and we’ll have a chat about Ros.”
Blech.
How could I forget?
Hearing my sister’s name rips me back to grim reality, away from this beautifully angsty fairy tale where we both try to hide confusing feelings rearing their heads.
I nod slowly.
“Yeah,” I say faintly. “Okay. Thanks again.”
Grant doesn’t say anything.
He just looks at me for a long, hard moment with a gaze I can’t decipher.
Then he’s gone, leaving me standing in that quiet sunlit room, wondering why everything keeps throbbing with uncertainty.
It doesn’t take me long to unpack for what feels like the twentieth time.
It also feels a little pointless when everything is so transitory right now.
Or maybe I just have a feeling Grant will be shipping me right back home tomorrow after one of the out-of-towners comes rushing in to apologize because their grandpa broke out of his cabin and wound up lost, running around town spooking people.
Grant will feel silly for overreacting. I’ll feel sillier for going along with it, but we’ll forget within a week, after my bruises heal.
By the time I’m back downstairs, I find Nell hunched over the coffee table. She’s kneeling on the floor and scribbling diligently at a workbook from school while some colorful cartoon bubbles across the TV with overly bright colors and loud noises and a lot of weird, um, stretching.