“Hold on a sec!” I holler, hugging the towel to my body as I dart from the bathroom to my bedroom, to throw on my pink sundress, my skin still damp from my shower. I glance at the clock: eleven a.m.
Keith’s sleeping, so I know it’s not him. Besides, he usually lets himself in with his key.
I head for the window, because neither Brenna nor I ever open the door without checking anymore. Actually, Brenna’s been banned from opening the door until further notice.
A black Suburban is parked outside.
I hold my breath as I throw open the door.
“What are you doing here?” I sound like I’ve been running laps, my voice breathless.
Brett grins. “I can’t surprise you?”
“Of course you can. But I thought—” My mouth drops open as I finally notice the absence of crutches and the new walking cast that protects his leg. “Oh, my God! They took it off!” I knew he had his eight-week doctor’s appointment this morning, but neither of us had expected this.
“Doc said I was ready.”
I can’t help the squeal as I throw myself at him, my arms coiling around his neck.
That charming laugh of his sails from his lips, warming my chest. “Take it easy. I’m still getting used to this thing.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just so happy for you.” My face feels like it’s about to split from smiling, even as I ask, “So, what did your leg look like when they took it off?”
“Horrible. Withered and scarred. I’ll show you later. Come here,” he whispers, dipping his head to lay a sweet kiss on my lips, his arms circling me, pulling me in tight against him.
He was here only yesterday. I can still feel where he was, deep inside me, and I ache for more. “It’s Brenna’s last day of school today.”
“Yeah, I think I remember her mentioning that.” She’s been marching around the house for the past week, counting down the days at the top of her lungs.
“That means she’s going to be with me pretty much all the time.”
His breath skates across my lips. “I figured.”
“So . . . you’re coming in, right?”
He smiles, not missing my meaning. “To celebrate getting my new cast?”
“Sure, whatever you wanna call it.”
My whole body shakes with his deep chuckle. “Actually, I thought we could get out for a bit first, before I let you use me for my body.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Come on, let’s go. Unless . . .” His eyes drift past me, to the baskets of dirty laundry I was about to lug down to the Laundromat, already three days overdue. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Yes. I mean, no, it’s not a bad time and yes, we can go.”
He reaches out to toy with a strand of my wet hair. “Okay, well . . . the sooner we go, the sooner we can come back.” Excitement flickers in his eyes. And perhaps a touch of nervousness.
I grab my keys and purse and trail him out.
The busboy at Rawley’s, Gibby, quietly tosses bags of trash into the Dumpster. He’s never said much to me, but I offer him a polite wave as usual and then climb into the SUV.
“I could have driven us.” I admire the lush lilac bush on the corner, the branches sagging under the weight of the conical flowers, still dripping from an early-morning rainfall. Balsam is now in full bloom.
“I wanted to give Don one more day before I get back behind the wheel.” A little louder, “You’re gonna miss driving my ass around, won’t you, Don?”
“It’s given my life meaning,” the gruff bodyguard replies in a deadpan tone, though I catch his eyes crinkling in the rearview mirror as we coast down the quiet street.
“You’re allowed to drive with that?” I nod toward the new cast.
“There’s no law against it. I’ll still get Don to drive me into Philly for my appointments, but if I’m around here, I can drive myself.”
I can’t hide my smile. He’s talking like he plans on being in Balsam. A lot.
“You know, this is a really nice little town.”
“It is,” I have to agree. Even overcast, the sun struggling to push through for what the weather claimed would be a “sunny and hot afternoon,” it’s a pleasant drive. A glimpse of blue water catches my eye. “That’s Jasper Lake, up ahead. Donovan, can you take the next left?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Remember that street I was telling you about? It’s the nicest part of Balsam.”
“Right.” Brett nods, taking in the line of stately Victorian houses on either side.
“I’ll bring you here at the holidays so you can see the lights. It’s like something out of a Christmas card. It’s my favorite time.” But truthfully, there isn’t a season that doesn’t look spectacular here. Oak trees form a canopy over the vast manicured front lawns of old stately homes. It doesn’t matter if it’s a long, hot lazy summer day or the frigid dead of winter, Jasper Lane is charming for anyone, visitor or otherwise.
I smile. “And that’s the Gingerbread House, up here on the right.”
“This house?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, pull over, Don.”
Donovan stops, allowing us a glimpse where the tall hedge parts for the long paved driveway. I sigh as I take in the three stories of Victorian grandeur. “They must have painted this spring.” The buttery yellow siding and white trim details pop against the ebony shingles, also new from the looks of it.
“It’s a nice house.” Brett’s thoughtful gaze rolls over it. “It looks exactly like that picture you drew.”
“You remember?”
“I remember everything about that night.” His chuckle dies off around the same time that my cheeks begin to flush, hoping Donovan doesn’t pick up on his meaning.
“You should see the inside. That time they had the open house? I didn’t want to leave.”
Brett frowns, as if an idea is forming. “Well, let’s go and see it, then.”
“What?”
“Let’s go and see inside.”
I’m shaking my head, laughing. “Someone lives there now.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Some rich people.”
He grins. “Perfect. Rich people love me. Let’s go and introduce ourselves. Don?”
Donovan backs the SUV up and pulls into the driveway.
“Oh, my God. You’re actually serious?”
“Of course I am. I almost burned to death in a car. After that, I’m not afraid of knocking on a door. I’m surprised you are, actually.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
He reaches over to squeeze my knee. “If you want to see inside that house, I’m going to make it happen for you.”
“They’re not going to just let us walk into their house! Besides, no one’s home.” I’m guessing. There’s a detached triple garage off to the side, which could be housing their cars.
He nods toward the puddled divots in the pavement. “Those are tire marks, there.”
“Still!”
“Don’t worry, I do this all the time.”
“You show up at strange people’s houses all the time?”
He chuckles. “Trust me. You wouldn’t believe what people agree to. Plus, you’re a local celebrity. What’s the worst they can say?”
“But . . . we can’t do this!”
Brett pauses, his hand on the door handle. “Why not?”