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“I just have to take a quick shower and then we can go,” he tells me, jogging toward the front porch. He takes his steps two at a time.
“Go? Go where?” I follow him, demanding answers. “I thought we agreed on lunch here.”
“We agreed on privacy, right?” He looks back just as he hits the top step before opening the door. “No one will see you where we’re going.”
“No one will hear me scream as you kill me either, I’m guessing.” I stop short as I speak, crossing my arms over my chest as I try to find ways to get this over with as quickly as possible.
“AndI’mthe peculiar one.” He lifts a brow at my dramatics, before turning to enter his house.
“At least we know our roles,” I call after him, but he’s already inside. I’m back to swinging my arms, not knowing what’s going on all over again.
Rather than stay outside where the trees watch my every move, I follow him inside. It feels like a dangerous venture, knowing that somewhere in this house, he’s naked. And wet.
It would be so easy…
“Make yourself comfortable!” he shouts from the top of the stairs, causing me to jump. “I’ll be right out.”
My hand is at my heart, somehow hoping to slow down its racing as I look around. It’s still empty in here, and I wish I could understand the point in him purchasing the place. I don’t let myself fall into the rabbit hole of wondering where I fit into his plans.
Because I don’t.
This ends in six weeks. I counted this morning after he left, telling myself that if I took it week by week, I’d be able to get inand out of it without turning this into something bigger than it has to be.
I can keep a secret from my sisters for six weeks. I’d spent years keeping the state of the bookstore from them, only letting Sophie in once I realized I might not be able to do it on my own anymore.
I wonder if Ezra has any siblings. What his relationship with them—if he has any—is like. If his parents are alive and if he sees them regularly. What his life is like outside of this home that isn’t really a home.
What kind of man drops tens of thousands of dollars on a stranger? What kind of man buys a huge house but doesn’t bother furnishing it? What kind of man is Ezra?
As I walk through the house, appreciating the high ceilings and large windows, I imagine what he’d fill the space with. Would he prefer classical furniture? Or something more modern?
I imagine there won’t be a makeshift tent in his home, like the one we built for Kitty in the dining room that I never could take down. Not until she left, anyway.
“What’s got you thinking so hard?” Ezra asks, making me jump again from my place in the kitchen.
Stainless steel appliances gleam at me, offering a distorted reflection of the both of us.
He’s wearing navy shorts and a smile, and I try so hard to keep my eyes on his face. But even I’m not that strong.
When does this man find the time to do a single sit-up? He always seems to be handling business in New York, traveling, or bothering me.
“Wondering if you’re a psychopath,” I tell him, unable to give myself away.
His laughter has his core working, and I admire his physique. Some men have bodies that are purely for aesthetics. They probably couldn’t lift a woman worth a damn.
Ezra’s body looks like he could not only pick up any woman but show her a good time while doing so. He’s bulky and broad.
“What’s giving me away?” he asks, taking a step toward me, crossing the threshold into the kitchen.
“You came to Cherry Cove, bought a house here, and gave me a bunch of money,” I tell him as he walks closer to me, making my heart race again.
“You forgot the part where we had sex,” he whisper-shouts as he heads toward the fridge.
My pulse slows, and I watch him grab a bottle of water from the fridge and take a deep pull. “That’s the part I’m trying to forget,” I tell him. It’s the truth. If I forget, I can’t want it again.
“Not if I can help it.”
“What’s your angle here?”
