Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Standing in the kitchen, I decide this will be a cushy job. I’ll maintain this house no problem.
It’s at this precise moment that I hear a knock on the glass door that leads from the kitchen out onto the sprawling back porch. I turn to see a masked madman standing there with a scythe in his hand, and I let loose a bloodcurdling scream.
Slowly, he slides the porch door open, and I act quickly, reaching for a knife from the butcher block on the counter.
Threats tumble out of my mouth as I wield it wildly, swinging it out in front of me in great big slashing motions. “Don’t come any closer. This bad boy is so sharp it’ll slice through flesh like butter! And…and I’m not afraid to use it!”
He curses and tugs down the fabric he had covering the bottom half of his face then pushes back his wide-brimmed sun hat.
“What’s wrong with you, girl?”
The pieces start to fall into place. This is a man well into his 70s, dressed in overalls with muddy boots, standing innocently before me. In his hand is not a scythe, but a rake. The fabric mask he was wearing? Probably to keep allergens from getting in his nose while he was doing yardwork.
Feeling like a complete idiot, I drop the knife onto the counter then clutch my chest while I release a relieved laugh.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I thought—”
I’m smart enough to let the last half of my sentence dangle. No need to make this situation worse by insulting the man. Yes hi, oh that whole slashing knife thing? I thought you were a terrifying murderer.
I know who this man is. Pat explained that there would be another employee working with me at the house: Ned, the groundskeeper.
I step toward him and hold out my hand. “I’m Chloe. Sorry about all that.” My gaze slides to the massive butcher knife I was just threatening him with. It looms larger than necessary on the counter. Okay, c’mon, did it just grow like three sizes when I wasn’t looking? “You just took me by surprise.”
He stares at my hand like he’d rather swat it away than shake it. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t come closer, but he does uphold his end of the introduction. Barely.
“Name’s Ned.”
I smile wider than I’ve ever smiled in my life. I have a lot of ground to recover. “What a great name. Ned. I love that name. You don’t hear that much anymore. Is it a family name?”
Yes, I’m going slightly overboard, but I’m trying to get us back on track.
Ned is uninterested in doing his part. Ignoring my question, he pinches his thumb and index finger together in front of his mouth and lets out a whistle. The orange tabby cat I let in earlier comes swaggering past me, back to its apparent owner.
“Cat’s not supposed to be in the house,” he says as he waves for me to follow him out onto the porch. Then he points at the backyard and the house, respectively. “That’s my domain, this is yours,” he states plainly. “Stay outta my way.”
Oh how friendly!
“And what if I…ope!” I make a joke of barely putting one foot outside, thinking this will elicit a little chuckle from Ned, but he remains stoic in the face of comedic gold. “Okay, I see,” I go on. “Very particular about your space. I can understand that. I grew up with a brother who was always getting in my stuff. I can’t tell you how annoying it was.”
Nothing. Ned’s face doesn’t inform me of anything beyond his general annoyance at having to deal with me. I see it now. I know this face. He’s Filch from Harry Potter, only without the long hair and warm personality.
“What about the garden?” I ask. “I thought it could use some love.”
He grumbles something unintelligible, and when I press him on it, he only seems more annoyed. “That’s fine. Just nothin’ else.”
“No raking the leaves, ha-ha! Got it!”
He’s already walking away.
“I will not so much as touch a hammer. No nails either!”
He completely ignores me, instead bending down to pick up his cat.
Well I, for one, think this year’s employee Christmas party is going to be a real riot.
FIVE
LUKE
“Why do we have to go here instead of Colorado?”
“I told you, Harper. Because of the leak. The whole first floor flooded, and they have to gut it.”
“Gut it?” she asks.
“Tear it down so they can fix it,” I amend quickly.
Some asshole in front of me swerves into my lane then slams on his brakes. I just about lose it. Laying on my horn doesn’t feel good enough.
“I liked that house!” she wails suddenly.
My patience is hanging on by a thread. I’m channeling the Dalai Lama, Mother Teresa, and my kindergarten teacher, Ms. McDonald. That lady was a real saint. I think I once put glue in her coffee mug when she wasn’t looking.