Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I sat on the edge of my side of the bed as he did his and rubbed lotion on my arms and legs. While tucking my hair into my bonnet, I thought about how to approach him about what I’d found without upsetting him.
“Melanie liked to read,” I said, and I felt so stupid saying it. Lots of people liked to read. I liked reading. Roland liked reading. He was about to read a book right now, his back against the headboard and a pair of reading glasses on the bridge of his nose. It was too late to retract the statement.
I looked over and noticed him pause, his book halfway open.
“She has a lot of books in the shed,” I added.
“Yeah. She was a voracious reader.”
“I can tell. She has a nice collection. The used bookstores will feel like they’ve won a jackpot when I donate them.”
“Hmm.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He opened his book to the bookmarked page.
“Do you know if she wrote often too?”
“Wrote?” He was scanning the page. “Well, I know she used to write in some kind of journal, but from what she used to tell me, she never wrote anything too serious in them. Mostly just about her day, I guess. How she was feeling. Her therapist had her writing in it every day.” “I don’t know about any of that. I’d never seen her writing anything.” He paused. “She was going to a therapist at one point.”
“A therapist?”
“Yes.” Roland lowered the book. “Why so many questions about her tonight?”
“I’m just asking,” I countered quickly. “I’ve been clearing her things out and noticing by what she owned that we would have had a lot in common.”
Roland studied my face, then he sighed and closed his book, placing it on the nightstand. “Come here.” He opened his arms to me and I crawled across the bed and onto his lap. I draped my arms around his shoulders and smiled down at him as he looked up at me.
“Are you having second thoughts about clearing the shed? If so, I can build you a new one.”
I laughed. “Don’t be silly. That one is fine. I just can’t wait to use it.”
“So just toss all that stuff then.” He kissed my lips. “It meant something to me before to have it there, but I realize now that it’s just stuff. I have no use for any of it.”
“Yeah.”
He kissed me again.
“I just want to be careful with it. Take my time. Maybe I’ll find something that you actually might need. I saw a couple business documents in there. Never know when they might come in handy.”
“Well, bring those in and we can go through them together.” He ran his palm down the curve of my back. “Samira, I don’t want you to feel out of place here. This house is yours just as much as it is mine. You don’t have to tiptoe around me or be afraid to ask for what you want. She’s not here anymore so . . .” He swallowed hard and looked away.
I cupped his face in my hands and brought his eyes back to mine again. “I know, baby.” Then I kissed him. “This is all just so new to me. I’ve never stayed in a place like this before—a place with so much. But I’m warming up to it.”
He gave me a crooked smile, then he flipped me onto my back and kissed me deep, and I laughed as he moved between my legs.
In a matter of seconds, all thoughts of Melanie had faded, and I was his.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I didn’t see the harm in reading the journals. Surely, if they were still in there, it was fine. It wasn’t like my reading them was going to change much of anything anyway. She was gone now. It wasn’t like she could just pop up and shout at me for it . . . but I suppose she could haunt me in a way if she wanted to.
Still, the fact that Melanie had to ask herself when everything went wrong . . . that didn’t sit well with me at all. Roland was suspected of murder as a result of her death. What if things did go wrong? What if, somehow, Roland was the reason Melanie drove off that cliff?
He may not have actually murdered her—that I believed—but what if he led her to suicide?
It was ridiculous to think . . . and yet I needed to know.
So back to the shed I went the following day, pulling down journal number one again and picking up where I left off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I didn’t know when I’d see Roland again after the tournament, but I had his number and he had assured me before leaving North Carolina that he would text and call me often. He was going to be in Colorado for a week and a half and then back to traveling again for another tournament.