Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
And that’s when I heard his quiet, soft voice start singing, so low in volume I leaned forward and had to strain.
His voice didn’t raise in volume, and I was pretty sure he was singing so low so that I wouldn’t hear him, but I could. I had good ears. I’d protected my hearing over the years by wearing top-of-the-line ear protection. I’d left my set of three-thousand-dollar in-ears when I’d left the home I’d shared with Kaden, but I still had a great set of headphones and Hearos that maybe I’d use again someday. To go see Yuki.
Creeping quietly down a few more steps, I stopped and strained some more.
Then I shifted down a couple more steps.
And a couple more.
Before I knew it, I was standing right outside the door that separated the apartment from the actual garage. As quietly as possible, I opened the door that led outside and closed it behind me the same way, moving like a snail to be as quiet as humanly possible.
I stopped.
Because sitting on the top step of his deck was Mr. Rhodes. In dark jeans and a light blue T-shirt, his elbows were propped on his knees. He was listening too.
I hadn’t seen him in more than passing since the day we’d gone to see the waterfalls.
He’d spotted me first, I guess.
I put my finger over my mouth to let him know I knew to be quiet and slowly started to sink on top of the mat right outside the door. I didn’t want to bother him or intrude.
But his blank face slowly got replaced by a frown.
He gestured to me to come over, even as his frown got deeper by the second.
Standing back up, I tiptoed across the gravel as quietly as possible, relieved when Amos started playing louder, his singing drifting away, wrapping around the notes coming from his guitar.
But the closer I got to Mr. Rhodes, the graver his expression became. The elbows he had resting on his knees slid up his thighs until he was sitting up straight, those pretty gray eyes of his wide, his expression stricken.
And my smile slowly melted off.
What was he—? Oh. Right.
How the hell could I forget when I’d spent the entire day having customers fawn all over my bruised face? One of the customers who I’d met a few times by then, a local man in his sixties named Walter, had left the store and come back with a loaf of homemade bread his wife had made. To make me feel better.
I’d just about cried when I’d given him a hug.
“Nothing happened,“ I started to tell him before he cut me off.
His back couldn’t have been any straighter, and I was pretty sure his expression couldn’t have been any grimmer. “Who did that to you?” he asked in a slow, slow voice.
“No one,” I tried to explain again.
“Someone jump you?” Mr. Rhodes asked, drawing out each word.
“No. I dropped—”
My landlord got up to his feet at the same time one of those big, rough hands went to my shoulder and curled around it. “You can tell me. I’ll help you.”
I closed my mouth and blinked up at him, fighting the urge to smile. And the urge to tear up.
He might not like me much, but man, was he decent.
“That’s really nice of you, but no one hurt me. Well, I hurt me. I dropped a box on my face.”
“You dropped a box on your face?”
Could he sound any more disbelieving? “Yes.”
“Who did it?”
“No one. I dropped it on myself, I swear.”
His gaze narrowed.
“I promise, Mr. Rhodes. I wouldn’t lie about something like that, but I appreciate you asking. And offering.”
Those pretty eyeballs seemed to take in my features some more, and I was pretty sure the alarm in his eyes faded at least a little. “What kind of box did you drop?”
I’d walked right into that, hadn’t I? I plastered a smile on my face even though it hurt. “A bat house...?”
Creases formed across his broad forehead. “Explain.”
Bossy. My face went hot. “I read that they help with bat problems. I figured if I got them a new home, they wouldn’t keep trying to sneak in to pick on me.” I swallowed. “I borrowed your ladder—I’m sorry for not asking—and found a tree with a good, sturdy branch on the edge of your property”—where he wouldn’t see it—“and I tried to nail it there.”
The branch wasn’t as sturdy as I’d hoped, and according to Clara, the nails hadn’t been the way to go, and it had fallen… on me. Hence, the black eyes and puffy nose.
The heavy hand on my shoulder fell away, and he blinked. Those short, thick eyelashes swept over his incredible eyes again even slower. There were lines branching out from the corners, but I swear it just made him more attractive. All weathered. How old was he really? Late thirties?