Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
She shrugs. “Not my problem. It’s my house. And I don’t decorate for Christmas. I had to get rid of some shit. Why would I keep it?”
“Shit? It’s not shit. Do you have any idea how many dollars in outdoor lights you gave away?”
“No.” She lifts one shoulder.
“Sorry, writer woman, you must be rich. Lucky you. But I’m not, and now I have to buy a crap ton of lights to replace the ones you gave away.” I shut the door behind me.
“Hey!” she yells when I reach the sidewalk. “You can’t be mad at me for that. Are you out of your mind?”
I keep trekking my way toward home. “You ran into my mailbox and stole my house. I can do whatever I want.”
SERENA
“Hi.” I open the front door to my … guest? No. That’s not right. Roomie? No. He’s not a roomie.
Tennant? Nope. Not unless he’s paying rent.
“Are … you going to invite me in?” Henry asks.
“Of course. I was just trying to figure out how I would explain you if I had to.”
Henry stares at me with his duffle bag slung over a shoulder. “To your assistant?”
I shake my head. “She went home for the holidays. I mean … just to anyone.”
He pulls off his beanie to reveal his dark head of matted hair. But those eyes … their blue perfection makes up for everything else that’s a little unkempt. “I’m a thirty-one-year-old male. Six-two. A Pisces. I’m freakishly good at badminton and pickleball. Single, but not desperate. And I might have a walnut allergy because when I eat them my tongue feels like it’s been attacked by razor blades.” He shrugs. “You could start there if you have to explain me.”
I step aside and press my lips together for a beat before murmuring, “Not exactly what I meant.”
Henry stomps his brown work boots on the mat before stepping inside. “I’ll put my stuff away. If you want to help out, you can get the lights out of the back of my van and take them out of their packaging.”
“I don’t want to help you do that.” I follow him to my bedroom, where he shoves clothes into drawers and onto hangers next to my clothes. “Do you know if there are hidden areas in this house? A secret door? A space beneath floorboards. Anything like that?”
Henry exits the closet, tossing his duffle bag on the floor and kicking it under my bed.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m looking for something.”
“If it’s in a hidden spot that you know nothing about, then it’s safe to say it’s not yours.”
I lift my chin. “Everything in this house is mine.”
He smirks. “I’m in this house.”
Don’t grin. Don’t grin!
I grin.
Henry’s amusement vanishes. “You scare me.”
“Why?” My accidental amusement sags into a frown.
“Because you’re too okay with this.”
“Okay with what? Owning you?”
He scoffs. “You don’t own me.”
“I own your family house. Your mom doesn’t know you lost it. And you’re living with me for the next two weeks. I think I pretty much own you.”
“I’m going to buy this house back from you. It’s only a matter of time.” He jogs down the stairs.
I shove my feet into my boots and snag my coat from the hook before following him to his van. “You are not buying back this house. It’s not for sale. It will never be for sale again as long as I’m alive.”
Henry chuckles, throwing open his van’s side door. “So how’s this going to go down? You’re leaving me the house in your will? Or I’m going to have to…” he peeks back at me, and his gaze ping-pongs in both directions before a toothy grin steals his face while he makes a throat cutting gesture at his neck “…to you.”
I frown. “The latter.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Really? I’m going to have to …” Again, he makes the throat cutting gesture.
“Stop.” I giggle.
“See. You’re laughing.” With a load of lights in his arms, he struts to the front porch, dropping them unceremoniously on the top step. “That means you know how nonsensical it is for you to want to die in this house or die because of this house. This is a family heirloom to me.”
“Yet you lost it or let it go. How exactly did that happen?”
“I’m just saying if my mom finds out you’re in the attic, I’m going to need an explanation for you.”
“That was a terrible subject change.” I laugh, following him back to the van. The next thing I know, my arms are weighed down with lights. “I’m not helping you.” I dump the lights on the top step next to the rest of them. “I have work to do.”
“Writing?” he asks on his way to the garage.
I feel like a little dog chasing him, always two steps behind.
“We need to stick to discussing the things that matter,” he continues. “How I lost this house is not important. The woman in the attic is very important. You could sneeze too loudly, and my mom will hear you.” Retrieving the ladder from the wall where it’s been since I bought the fully-furnished house, Henry takes it outside and props it up against the house.