Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Sorry, Mom. I need to leave.”
A low growl came from the back of her throat. “That woman is bound and determined to keep you from eating!”
Laughing, I kissed her on the forehead. “Bianca has nothing to do with this. I’m heading back over to Granddad’s place to help Paige.”
A light twinkled in my mother’s eyes. “Oh, do you want to bring her some chicken pot pie?”
One look at the heavenly dish and my stomach growled. “Considering I just offered to cook her dinner, and I have no idea what I’ll cook, I better bring a back-up plan.”
My mother jumped up and grabbed a container for the chicken pot pie and one for the salad.
“I hope the two of you can work through things,” Mom said as she handed me the plastic bag plus two slices of her pecan pie.
With a quick kiss on the cheek, and a nod to my father, I replied, “It will all work out.”
I headed out to my truck—the same old truck I drove when I was in high school. She was still a good ride, so I was in no hurry to run and buy a new one.
I had sounded more convinced than I felt when I told my folks it would all work out. I had no idea how Paige and I would handle this ownership of the house. I had to believe that somewhere in that house, Granddad had left us the answers we were both looking for.
It hit me that I had forgotten to ask my father about the key to the attic. I’d call him when I got back to the house. The key had to be somewhere. Paige and I needed in that attic. I knew that was where we’d find the answers.
At least, I hoped like hell we would.
Paige
I STOOD IN the middle of the living room, staring at Lucas’s text. My chest felt lighter than it had in a long time, while my hands shook slightly as I held the phone.
“What in the world is wrong with me?” I whispered. Oreo sat on the windowsill, cleaning herself. She offered a single meow as answer to my predicament.
“I’m not scared.”
She looked at me, then meowed again.
I snarled at her. “Fine. Nervous, but not scared. Definitely not scared.”
Oreo looked as if she rolled her eyes. If cats could do that she most definitely was.
“Oh, what do you know?” I said, blowing at a piece of hair that dangled in front of my eyes.
My gaze swept over the living room. I’d pulled all the furniture out from the wall and covered it. Milo had one of his guys drop off the light-colored greyish blue paint only an hour ago. I couldn’t wait to get started. I had only gotten one wall done before Lucas texted. Now my mind was swirling.
“He feels guilty, that’s what this is about,” I said as I rolled the paint roller in the tray and started painting the next wall.
Oreo moved positions on the windowsill.
“Last night, I broke down and shared too much, and he now feels guilty. Great. The last thing I need is his pity.”
A long meow came from Oreo. I stopped rolling and looked at her. “You don’t think so? Oh, I do. I called him out on a few things, namely him trying to sell the house to hurt me. I know Lucas, if that was his motive for selling the house, it was done purely out of anger. He’d never really do it. I brought it to his attention and the decent side of him, the side I know is still somewhere in there, feels guilty. Well, we need to be strong tonight, Oreo. No letting him sweet talk us or say sexy things. If he even tries to compliment me, I’ll know it’s the guilt speaking, and not him.”
Oreo jumped off the windowsill and made her way over to sit next to me. She stared up at the roller moving on the wall.
“If you jump on this wall, you’re going outside.”
She looked up at me.
“What? Are you offended now?”
She turned, whipped her tail a few times and made her way out of the living room.
“Don’t even act like that! You know you thought about it!”
“Who in the hell are you talking to?”
Screaming, I dropped the roller, jumped back and instantly knew I’d made a huge mistake.
“Shit!” I called out as I looked down at my foot, in the paint tray, covered in grey blue. “Damnit all to freaking hell.”
“Since when did you start swearing so much?” Lucas asked, grabbing the box of rags and making his way over to me.
“Since life started being an asshole to me.”
He laughed and bent down. “Hold onto my shoulder and lift up your foot.”
I did as he asked. He pulled out a bunch of rags and wrapped them around my shoe, carefully pulling it off my foot.