Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Let me get them settled and then I’ll be back,” I tell Collin.
He nods and pulls Lowyn a little closer. And of course he does. Because, like me, right now Collin Creed and Lowyn McBride are picturing that night twelve years ago when that man tried to kidnap Olive and Collin killed him for his troubles.
Lowyn was there. She saw the whole thing. And I bet, all this time that she’s been living in that house—remodeling and redecorating it so there was almost no trace of what happened that night—she’s been telling herself it would never happen again.
And now it has.
No one was there and no one got hurt, but that hardly matters.
Someone came into that house uninvited. Again.
“Wow,” Cross says. He stops in the middle of my living room and looks around. “Your place is cool, Amon. Where’s my bedroom?”
I’m looking at Rosie when this comes out of his mouth and she blushes a little. “Cross. Don’t be silly, you don’t have a bedroom here.”
“You take that first room in the hallway right there, Cross. That’s your room.”
“Thanks, Amon!”
He goes off to explore and Rosie turns to me. “Your place is… not what I expected.”
I look around, taking it in with new eyes. “Well, most of this was Lowyn. When we bought the compound, everything was a mess and needed reno. But my kitchen was this cool-as-fuck turquoise and black color. It even had black velvet wallpaper.”
Rosie makes a face.
“Cool, right?” I know she’s not thinking ‘cool,’ she’s thinking ‘gross,’ but I’m playing with her. “So I told Low that I wanted to keep that vibe. And this is how it turned out.”
I grin and spread my arms wide, completely ignoring that this house has ‘man’ written all over it. It’s nice though. Lowyn is partial to mid-century modern, and what do I know about decorating? I picked things from the samples she showed me. None of the mid-century modern furniture is actually vintage, that’s just not my style. But I do like me some tapered legs and soft curves.
“Turquoise ceilings are… a… bold choice.” Rosie laughs. “But it looks good.”
“That was Lowyn. Again. Because I tried to paint the walls black, and she pitched a fit. So she met me halfway with black baseboards and crown molding, but the walls had to be gray.”
“Black walls.” Rosie shakes her head and tsks her tongue. “Thank God for Lowyn.” Then she turns to me. “It’s actually quite nice. You’ve got style, Amon. Who knew?” She grins, shooting me a side-eye. “Where do I sleep?”
“Well… I do have another spare room. Or”—I shrug—“you could stay upstairs with me.”
“She’ll stay with you,” Cross calls from his room. Then he peeks his head out. “She’s gonna say, ‘I’ll take the spare room.’” He says this last part mimicking his mama’s voice. “But don’t let her, Amon. She’ll boss you all over the place if you let her. Better to take control now.” Then he retreats back into the room and closes the door.
“Oh, my God. My son. Please excuse him.”
I ignore that and stay on point. “Spare room or upstairs?”
Her eyes roll up to the ceiling, then she looks at me. “Well, I at least want to see it or I might die of curiosity before morning.”
I grab her shoulders and point her in the direction of the stairs. Then I follow her up, but hold back at the top so I get a good look at her as she learns something new about me.
Rosie’s bedroom is all vintage cottage core, mostly because that’s how Lowyn had it decorated when she left. But my bedroom, much like the downstairs, says upscale man cave.
The turquoise and black theme continues, but this time it’s reversed. Black ceilings and turquoise trim with dark gray walls. Like the downstairs, the furniture is new mid-century modern.
Rosie walks forward, the tips of her fingers tracing the gleaming brass bedframe as she passes. It’s a modern and masculine take on the canopy that looks like an open cube. It was custom-made by someone Lowyn knows down in Kentucky and she thought of me when she saw it.
“It’s king-size,” I tell Rosie. “So there’s plenty of room for you.”
She turns, letting out a breath at the same time. “Black velvet, huh?” She nods her head to the bedding—which is, in fact, silk velvet. But it’s about two shades lighter than true black.
I shrug. “I was pretty keen on the idea and bedding is easy to change. Though, if you take a moment to touch it, I doubt you’ll hate it.”
She bites her lip as she bends over to run that fingertip down the velvet comforter. “It’s very soft.” Then she straightens up and looks around, turning in a slow circle until she’s facing me again. “Skulls?”
She’s referring to my theme. Which is, indeed, skulls. The pictures on the wall, the pillows on the bed, and the lamps on the bedside tables—gold ones, also made of gleaming brass and which look a little bit like candlesticks with skulls at the base. “What can I say? It’s kinda my style.”