Page 19 of Trailer Trash

Jerk.

I leave, refusing to look back.

5

Harlow

I hum along to the music and open another box.

Dishes.

Carefully, I unload the plates into my new kitchen cupboard. Well, it isn’t new-new. This mobile home is thirty years old. It has thin walls, squeaky cabinets, and a floor that complains beneath every step. The couch doesn’t match the chair, and the kitchen table leans if I put too much weight on one side. Still, everything inside was bought by me. It is small, imperfect, and mine.

I practically squeal at the thought.

Mine.

“Mom, you would be so proud of me,” I whisper to myself. “I wish you were still here to see it.”

Knock, knock.

Who could that be? It’s kind of late for visitors.

I tiptoe to the door, hoping the creaking floorboards won’t give away my presence. Living alone as a single woman is a little scary when you don’t know the area. I haven’t met my neighbors yet.

Through the peephole, I catch dark hair, expensive clothes, and a face that hasn’t left my thoughts — one side unfairly beautiful and the other riddled with stitches.

Killian Easton.

Knock, knock.

“Harlow?”

I freeze.

“I know you’re in there. I see your car.”

And how does he know that’s my car?

“It has the hospital parking permit on the bumper,” he answers, as if he read my mind.

I collect myself, unlock the deadbolt, and open the door only as far as my instincts allow.

The sight of him takes my breath away. He’s in black dress slacks and a collared shirt. A silver watch shines on his wrist. His hair is freshly cut, and he shaved carefully around his sutures without leaving a stray hair behind.

I shouldn’t be surprised he can clean up. Money can make dangerous men look irresistible.

“Uh, hello, Killian. How did you know where I live?”

“I have a source. Can I come in?” he asks, then walks inside as if he owns the place.

Oh God. He smells good. His cologne floats to my nose like seductive smoke, calling me closer.

I stay put and shut the door.

He crowds the space. His tall frame makes the already low ceiling appear even lower.

“This is tiny.”