The Attic on Queen Street (Tradd Street #7)

I began backing up, eager to avoid another awkward moment. “Good night, Jack. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Mellie.”

I headed down the hallway and didn’t turn around to see him watching until I’d closed my bedroom door behind me.

I placed the buttons on my nightstand and crawled into bed, grateful for the warm spot General Lee had created. I lay awake for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, listening to General Lee lick parts of himself that I preferred he keep private. When my phone binged, I flipped it over and opened the screen to find a text from Jack.


AK#4



It took a moment for my sleeping brain to understand. I replaced my phone on my nightstand and curled back under the covers, eventually falling asleep with a smile still on my lips.





CHAPTER 12



I awoke the following morning to loud banging coming from the front door. I jerked upright, dislodging an annoyed General Lee, who’d been comfortably sleeping on the top of my head. After fumbling for my glasses, I slid them on and blinked at the two alarm clocks placed strategically across the room. Five past six. I was still processing this when the banging sounded again.

I threw myself from the bed, dragging half of the covers with me as I stumbled to keep from falling. General Lee grumbled as I struggled into my bathrobe and slippers before running toward the stairs. I almost collided with a shirtless Jack in the hallway as another boom boom came from the door and Sarah let out a screech. I knew it was Sarah because JJ could have slept through a tornado.

“I’ll see who’s at the door while you go to Sarah,” Jack said as he headed down the stairs. It was only Sarah’s wails that pulled my attention away from Jack’s bare torso and sent me running toward the nursery.

Sarah stood at the side of her crib with fat tears running from her big blue eyes and down her chubby cheeks. She wore a piteous expression often seen on the Precious Moments figurines that Rebecca liked to collect for reasons I couldn’t understand. “Mama,” she said, lifting her arms toward me. Her sobs immediately subsided as I held her close and she buried her face in my neck.

I patted her back as I walked over to JJ’s crib, where he was still sleeping peacefully with his whisk. Another bang sounded on the door, leaving me wondering what was taking Jack so long to answer it. I hurried from the nursery with Sarah in my arms and went downstairs.

We found him in the vestibule, attempting to open the door. I peered through the sidelights and spotted an annoyed Marc Longo with an even more annoyed Harvey Beckner standing behind him. Beyond them on the driveway adjacent to the piazza stood various crew members next to their vans. I placed my hand over Sarah’s exposed ear so she couldn’t hear the curses coming from Marc and Harvey.

“I don’t know what the problem is,” Jack said, his biceps flexing as he tugged on the doorknob, then attempted to turn it left and right. Nothing budged.

Jack shouted for the men to head toward the back door, miming with his hands to go around the corner. If I hadn’t been enjoying watching him move without his shirt, I might have told him that I doubted the back door would open, either.

An even louder boom shook the door, and we stood back. I anxiously glanced at the Tiffany glass sidelights and fan window over the door, fearing Sophie’s wrath if she found a single crack in the glass or a dent in the solid wood door.

I’d opened my mouth to shout at them to stop when Sarah lifted her head from my shoulder, turned toward the door, and pointed at it with a soggy index finger. A word that sounded something like “open” tumbled from her mouth.

The doorknob turned and the door opened suddenly, causing both Harvey and Marc to stumble inside, accompanied by more choice words. Jack barred them from entering the foyer while I gently squeezed our daughter’s pudgy leg in thanks.

Jack stood in front of the men like an avenging angel. “Before I ask you what you’re doing here before the agreed-upon start time of eight o’clock, I have to insist that you watch your language while you’re on my property. I don’t want to have to wash your mouths out with soap.”

Harvey told Jack what he could do with himself and then tried to brush past him, but Jack couldn’t be budged. “I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you guys, but not until eight. Why are you here?”

Harvey smirked. “Because the contract says we can’t start filming until eight. But we can’t start filming unless we’ve got everything set up.”

“Is that so?” Jack asked, his outstretched arms still barring the way. “I’ll have to go over the fine print in the contract. If you’re right, I would appreciate you not banging on the door. I’ve got two babies and a teenager in the house, and if they’re cranky, we’re all going to be cranky.”

“Not my problem. I suggest you give me a key so I don’t have to bang on the door. Your doorbell is broken.”

“No, it’s not,” Jack said. “It just doesn’t like you.”

“Very funny, Jack,” Marc said, stepping back to press the doorbell. Nothing happened.

With a straight face, Jack turned to me. “Melanie, why don’t you have Sarah show these men how to press a doorbell?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Harvey said, trying to slip past Jack’s arm again and failing. “If you don’t let me through—”

His words were cut off by the sound of the doorbell as Sarah gleefully pressed the button again and again as she giggled her baby belly laugh.

“Good girl,” I said, kissing her cheek.

“Just give me a damned key,” Harvey demanded.