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I repressed a strong urge to roll my eyes. To her, maybe becoming a resident of Singletree was something to be celebrated, but for me it was just the final nail in the coffin of the life I’d had. The one I’d very much enjoyed having. Before. "Thanks, I really appreciate all your help."
"If you need anything," she said, turning and heading back to the front door.
"Yep. Got it."
"I'll check in on you in a couple days." She patted my arm and stepped onto the porch. "And if you need any help decorating—"
"Won't be necessary," I said, interrupting her. She was really hung up on this holiday thing.
"Well, you know there is the thing I told you about, the contract—“
"I've got it," I assured her, ignoring every word and practically pushing her out the door.
"All right then, talk to you soon!" She skipped down the steps to her car, and a few minutes later, I stood alone on the porch of my new home.
After unloading my few things from the car, I turned slowly and went back inside. The empty space of the old house seeming to echo and expand around me, making me feel small and insignificant as I stood in the cool silence. I took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, I exhaled and felt myself relax.
* * *
I spent two nights in the new house, sleeping on the floor in the living room in my sleeping bag, a whiskey-fueled hangover dogging me through the days, and dark dreams full of doubts chasing me through the nights. I didn't even go upstairs. For one thing, my ankle hurt too damned much to climb the stairs just for the heck of it, and for another, I figured that when you've seen one house, you've seen them all. Just because this one belonged to me now didn't make it special.
The movers showed up on the third day, their huge long truck lumbering down the lane in front of the house, making the road look even narrower than it actually was. I pressed the button next to the door to let them through the gate, greeted them at the front door, and then limped into the far bathroom to take a much-needed shower. My plan was to hang out on the back porch until they were done, staying out of the way and avoiding conversation—and potential recognition—as much as possible. I’d called my brother that morning to let him know I’d arrived, though I should have done it the moment I’d taken ownership. I shouldn’t have put it off, but even dealing with Cormac seemed like more than I could handle.
I had just positioned myself back in the folding camp chair, my gaze aimed out at the sweep of the Potomac that wound around the bottom edge of my property several acres below, when I heard a female voice drifting through the open window. I swiveled and squinted inside, but didn't see any female movers hustling furniture about. Just when I decided I’d been mistaken, I heard it again, a soft melodious voice that definitely couldn't belong to one of the movers I’d just let in.
Wandering the house, dodging moving couches and rolled-up rugs, wasn't what I felt like doing, especially with my ankle protesting every move I made, but my curiosity got the best of me. Was I hearing things now? Maybe I’d been alone a little too long in this strange old house. I went in and prowled the downstairs rooms and then climbed the stairs slowly, cursing the shooting pain that accompanied each step I took with my left foot. The staircase was grand and wide, the oak-planked risers creaking under my weight as I gripped the curving bannister. I imagined myself tripping and falling down the expansive steps, and I could picture the media coverage of that one.Former Soccer Star Callan Whitewood Suffers Another Debilitating Injury!Because I hadn’t been hounded enough after the first one.
After exploring the upstairs rooms—all gleaming and bright, mostly empty of furniture—I was beginning to doubt myself, and to believe I was most likely losing my mind. I glanced out the second-story window at the moving truck in the drive, and spotted a small silver Honda next to my car. Someone was definitely here, but this stupid house was so big I couldn't find her.
I was just about to head back down the stairs when a woman appeared in the hallway where she definitely had not been before. She had inky dark hair that flowed over her shoulders, and bright blue eyes that glittered in the half-light of the upstairs hallway. She was pretty, I realized, but that didn't begin to explain what she was doing wandering around my house with a clipboard and appearing in empty hallways. "Hello," she said. "You must be Mr. Whitewood. I'm April Hall."
"Uh, hi," I said, hating the way the confusion made me sound uncertain. This was my house, dammit. Who was this woman? “Where exactly did you come from?"
The woman gave me a puzzled look, her nose wrinkling in a way that I was sure most found adorable, but that I perceived as her simply not answering my question. "Just now?" she asked.
"Yes. Just now."
"Because I came to Singletree from California, but I didn't think that was what you meant." She laughed lightly and then spun around. "There's a secret hallway back here." She pulled open a panel that had been standing slightly ajar. "It was probably a servants' passage. A lot of these old houses have these little nooks and crannies. Part of the charm. If that's your thing." She shrugged and looked at me expectantly, maybe waiting for me to chime in about whether or not old houses and secret passages were ‘my thing.'
Annoyance flooded me as my ankle throbbed. I didn't like a stranger knowing more about my house than I did, and I didn't like being surprised in my own home. I was also oddly annoyed at the tiny flicker of interest I had felt leap to life in my chest when I’d gotten a good look at this intruder. It was hard to hold onto my annoyance when part of me—the old part of me that was good at flirting with attractive women—was prodding me to keep her talking. I shoved that part down and remembered that I was done with women, done with being good-natured and friendly, done with people in general.
"Can I ask what you're doing in my house, Miss Hall?"
"Oh, of course." She had the grace to blush, certainly realizing that she was essentially trespassing. "I'm withHoliday Homes, and you're on my list, and well, the gate and the door were open, and there was so much hub-bub down there with all the men moving things around..." she babbled, looking nervous.
"And so you're here because," I began for her, gripping the banister at the top of the stairs as my ankle throbbed.
"I was looking for you, actually." The bright eyes found my own and then dropped to my hands, taking in the white-knuckled grip on the bannister and darkening briefly before meeting my gaze again. "Is there somewhere we could sit?"
For a split second, I wondered if she knew. That look—it had held a touch of pity, and while I’d come to Singletree to get away from lots of things, pity was first on that list. I straightened, forced myself to put weight on both feet evenly and released my grip on the bannister. "No, actually. There's nowhere we can sit. Maybe you noticed I don't have any furniture just yet?"
"I did," April said, "and I'm so sorry to just barge in. I just wanted—"
"I'm going to stop you right there," I said, feeling my anger dissipate into exhaustion. "Maybe you know who I am, maybe you don't. I don't really care. I moved here because I only know one person in town. There's no one here who needs me for anything, no one who expects anything from me. There's no one here who I have to worry about disappointing because they'd hoped for anything at all." The words sounded bitter coming out and I almost regretted them as I watched April's pretty face tighten, her chin lift slightly. "I don't need whatever you're selling. I'm not in the market for candles, makeup, or Boy Scout popcorn, I don't want to save the turtles or the unicorn habitat, and I'm not looking to sponsor a puppy, a wombat, or a child." I waved an arm at the stairway, indicating that April should go down.
She stood still for a long moment, evaluating me with that sharp gaze. "Okay then," she said. "Good speech, by the way. I liked the part about the unicorns and wombats." Then she stepped past me, toward the stairs, but spun around to face me after descending only two risers, and came back up.
I sighed. The woman’s eyes sparkled as red spots appeared high on her cheeks, and—was that glitter glinting just below her left eye?
