"Crap." My hand flies to my forehead, which still has a steady stream of water pouring down it. This is the second time I've been to this place, and the second time I've been soaked to the bone. "Yes. Wait! How do you know there are towels inside?" I scrunch my nose, grasping my hair to squeeze the water out.
"I take care of the house."
His answers soothe my curiosity, allowing my mind to travel down another pathway. I'm not dead, so how long have I been out here already? Seth must be looking for me.
The chair tumbles to the ground as I stand. My head nearly collides with the man's chin as he leans over me. "Thank you...?"
He quickly withdraws, so I don't whack my head against him. "Jonathan is the name, and don't thank me...?" His voice pitches lower as he draws his words out, mimicking me. A playful smile tilts the corners of his lips up as he extends his hand toward me in greeting.
I chance another look in his direction, then accept his hand. "Abigail. My name, I mean, my name is Abigail," I stammer, showcasing how awkward I am, and likely always will be.
A door slams in the distance, echoing off the house, and snapping my attention to it. "I'm sorry. I have to go, thank you!" Panic grabs my attention toward the side yard, and I run as fast as I can, leaving Jonathan in my wake.
Around the house, the sound of starting engines echoes off the trees. Seth wouldn't leave without me, but a gnawing sensation in my gut tells me otherwise. I'm not a paranoid person. Anxious, but it’s not until recently I’ve started doubting everything I know.
Honestly, I don’t know if he would leave me behind. The worst feeling in a relationship is not knowing where you stand. During certain moments, I feel like I’m the priority, but the next, it’s as if I don’t exist at all.
I round the corner of the house, standing next to a purple rose bush, and voices rise in the driveway.
"Just forget her, man, leave her behind."
Trav’s voice carries to me, which means his irritating tone is loud enough to carry to Jonathan. My cheeks burn a deep red from embarrassment, only adding to my misery.
"You have your entire life ahead of you, and you're going to waste it on her? You're an idiot."
"Yeah... I'm not agreeing with you, but it's time to find someone else."
"All right. Let's head out, Seth. Just leave Abs behind," Trav says lightly.
He says the words so casually, which hurts the most. Both of them are speaking nonchalantly, as if this isn't my choice, too. I clutch my heart, which seems like it's crumbling inside my chest. Is it possible to die from a broken heart?
I stumble toward the driveway, but I'm too late. The Corolla disappears down the driveway, and with it, my heart vanishes.
A cloud of dust kicks up behind the car, adding insult to injury as it washes over me, sticking to my wet skin.
"What the hell?" I sit on the grass, burying my face into my palms.
Things weren't in the best shape with Seth, but for him to leave, and for Trav to cheer him on without Seth even trying to stick up for me?
I swipe at the tears spilling down my cheek, gulping down air. Something shifts behind me, then a strong, calming presence settles down next to me. Jonathan sits on the grass by my feet.
"Was that him?" Jonathan asks carefully.
"It was," I mumble. It's all I can manage without sounding like a sobbing child. "Why would he leave like that? Why?" Self-loathing settles in, accompanied by self-pity.
Jonathan inches closer to me and wraps an arm around me in a half-hug. "I can't speak for his actions, Abigail. All I can say is, let out whatever is hurting you. Let it out and when you're ready, let it go."
I lean against Jonathan's chest, pressing my cheek against the denim jacket. Beneath it, his body is what I assume a wall of muscle would be like. At this moment, I feel like a complete fool. But he is there, offering comfort as I struggle to breathe through my sobs.
His hand strokes my nape, then swoops down my back. He continues this soothing motion until my breathing calms.
"Sometimes it is best to move on," he says after a few moments roll by. "It isn't easy, but it is necessary for anyone's sanity." Jonathan glances down at me as I pull away.
In my right mind, I'd agree with him, but I'm an emotional wreck and I can't wrap my head around why Seth would be okay just leaving me like that. I'll need to call a cab and ride back to Virginia. I'll have to pack all my belongings. The list goes on, making it hard for me to focus, and it upsets me all over.
"I should, but it's hard after five years together. Something has been off for a while, but I wasn't even worth a proper goodbye?" My voice hitches as I fight back stubborn tears.
The inevitable reel of all the things I've done wrong recently plays in my mind. Have I said enough, done enough? Normally, I’m not so clingy, but lately I’ve felt the need to show I care more, and maybe that made me look desperate.
I hate feeling desperate. I'm sure I looked it, too.
"You're still soaked, Abigail. Why don't we get you sorted?" Jonathan stands, extending his hand toward me. "There are towels and I'm sure there is also a change of clothes inside."
Curiosity creeps to the forefront of my mind. "How do you know that again?" I squint, recalling he mentioned looking after the property, but inside, too? "Inside—like the inn?"
Jonathan's eyebrows arch, and he turns to face the house. "Uh, yeah. That would be the one..."
I lift my hands in surrender. "I was just asking… Do you live next door?"
There is no next door. The land belonging to the house is acres wide, and it’s probably a decent fifteen minute walk to the next house. I watch as his face slips into an unreadable expression. It's still friendly, but I can't tell if he's laughing at me or not.
"Wait. You live here?"
He chuckles, which makes his full lips twist in a beautiful, toothy smile. "Yes. I realize ghost hunters were just here, but the inn is my home—was—until it sells. I'm not sure you noticed, but there was a for sale sign at the bottom of the drive." Jonathan sighs, looking around the yard as if envisioning his childhood. "There is a lot of history in this place. I was born right here."
For a moment my mind lags, then catches up. Jonathan was born here, as in, inside the house. My mouth hangs open for a split second before I snap it shut. I groan at my stupidity. Between stammering and acting utterly foolish, Jonathan must think I'm dimwitted. I blink, wiping a stubborn tear from my cheek.
Jonathan either doesn't see, or has the good grace not to call attention to my lack of detective skills. He chuckles and jerks his thumb toward the house. "Did you see the room off the parlor? The borning room. Many came into the world in that room, and many have left in it. I always thought of it as a doorway; whether you're stepping into life or stepping out, you have to pass through it." He walks away, then pauses as if he senses I'm not joining him. "Come on, let's get you taken care of."
At that, I follow him inside.
Now I know Jonathan lives here, I see the house with new eyes. That's why it didn't appear abandoned, because it isn't. Even though the cobwebs are thick in some areas, I have to wonder if it's just because this place is so massive. I can hardly keep up on tidying cobwebs in my house—Seth's house, I amend, and pain shoots through my chest.
I don't want to think about Seth, or how Snuffy will react to me not returning, or how all my belongings are still in the house, and I'm hundreds of miles away.
"I can't believe him!" The words burst from my mouth and I clench my hands into fists. I have to say something. My thoughts swirl around in my head, deafening me. Every insecurity I've ever had seems to rise, screaming at me.
Jonathan spins on his heel, staring down at me as if I were an alien. "Really?" he questions, and I don't like his tone.
"Why would I? Should I accept the way he went about the breakup? He's thirty years old. You would think he'd have the decency to break up with me like an adult." My shoulders sag and I curl my arms around my middle. "I hate what he did, and ho
w long we've both prolonged the inevitable."
Understanding flashes in Jonathan's gaze. "Which is normal. No one likes to writhe in pain before being put out of their misery." Quiet spreads between us for a few moments, then he says, "I will grab the change of clothes."
Jonathan leaves me to my miserable thoughts. His footsteps carry him across the floor, and since it's so quiet, the sound of him walking around upstairs seems magnified.
Dust peppers my shoulders as he mills around, and I wonder why Jonathan doesn't tidy the place up better. If the house is for sale, shouldn't someone clean the interior? Or at the very least, freshen the place up a little more? It's not as if leaves clutter the floor, but there could be a massive improvement in upkeep. Like purchasing a vacuum, for starters, and buying stock in paper towels.
Despite the knife-like pain in my chest, I mozy into the kitchen and search for some cleaning supplies. Cleaning always pulls me out of the swamps of sadness. Often, when a client infuriated me at the animal hospital, I took it upon myself to go on bathroom cleaning duty, and dove into wiping down the seating area, the tiles. It was nothing but good for the cleanliness of the hospital, and everyone hated to be on mop duty. Not me. Something positive came from my frustration, and that always lifted my spirits.
Beneath the sink, I find a hand towel and a jug of vinegar. At least the glass will be pristine.
By the time Jonathan walks into the dining room, the windows are sparkling and the cobwebs are gone. It took more than a towel; it took courage to wipe them away, cursing loudly, and then praying. Finally, a spastic toss of the towel into the trash bin, and it was done. I’m still shuddering in disgust when I feel someone watching me.
Jonathan stands at the entryway, his black brows lifting in question as he takes in my even more disheveled state.
"I wasn't gone that long," he drawls. "Nevertheless, Abigail, I come bearing gifts." Fresh clothes lay on his upturned palms, and he flourishes a bow. The movement shifts his hair, which cascades down his shoulders in a fluid motion.
I try pushing my own from my face, but it sticks in place. How fair is it I look like someone who has been found on the roadside, and he looks near perfect? Frizzy, chestnut strands tickle my temples as I stare at Jonathan in disbelief.
"I know," I say, motioning to the windows. "I clean when I'm stressed out." Stressed doesn't even describe how I feel.
He nods his head, not saying anything. Jonathan still holds the change of clothes out, waiting for me to take them.
I scoop them up, my skin brushing against his. "Thanks," I murmur and step out of the room, toward the bathroom down the hall.
I turn the light on first, half expecting a demonic spider to jump out at me, but nothing does. Closing the door behind me, I peel off my jeans, which glue themselves to my curves. I've never been thin. I've always been shapely, which works to my advantage because my hips are holding up the otherwise big, new sweatpants. I remove my shirt and bra, tugging the T-shirt on over my head. My breasts fit against the front snugly.
I flick my hair out from under the shirt as I leave the bathroom, turning on my heel to search for my savior.
To my surprise, Jonathan stands outside the bathroom. I pull up short to avoid colliding with his chest. His hair now lies in a thick braid over his shoulder, which makes it easier for my eyes to follow along his jawline. A fine layer of stubble shadows his angles, only making them appear sharper, and some part of me wants to feel the tickle against my neck.
"Impressive." Jonathan's eyes remain glued to my face.
"Yeah, okay. Enough out of you." I head back outside to hang my wet clothes on the porch railing.
"You didn't ask what I found impressive." Jonathan's deep voice makes me jump. I didn't expect him to follow me. "But I'll answer, regardless. You're wearing clothes that belong to... Come to think of it, I don't know who." He grins, holding up his hands before continuing. "And you're still beautiful."
Is it just me, or is he talking more? I huff, trying not to blush. I don't want compliments now, but I need them. At the very least, it's a distraction. Speaking of distractions, did he say he didn't know whose clothes these are? He's joking, I hope.
"Thank you." After I'm done hanging my clothes, reality creeps in again. "I need to call a cab and figure out where I'm staying, too. Do you have a phone I can use?" Unfortunately, my cell was in the Corolla.
Jonathan waves his hand above him. "No, we don't have a phone line here, but there are plenty of vacant rooms. Stay the night, if you'd like. Tomorrow is another day, and you look exhausted."
I nod and cross the porch, making myself comfortable on a porch swing. At some point, Jonathan joins me, and we settle into a comfortable conversation. It's like I've known him for years, and it's easier talking to him than it ever has been with Seth.
When the peepers begin their song, Jonathan continues to tell me about the inn, and what it was like growing up here. The sound of his deep baritone lulls me into a restful slumber.
Sunlight touches my face, making me sit up in bed. Bed? I don't remember walking to a room. I search around, not recognizing the one I'm in, and hurriedly rush to the door. Opening it, I assess the hallway, which wraps around toward another stairwell, and I realize I'm on the second floor. It takes a minute for me to remember. This was the first room I inspected a few days ago.
Scrubbing the sleep from my eyes, I try to remember last night and all I can recall are the stories Jonathan told me. I fell asleep, which is embarrassing. Grumbling to myself, I venture down the stairs in search of him.
Every twist and turn I make through the house leads to empty spaces. Sighing, I push the kitchen door open and head outside into the warm morning glow. The air is already heavy with moisture, and it’s like a wet blanket against my mouth. But the sun casts a golden hue on the land, and it's breathtaking. The pond in the backyard glitters from the light, and something about it calls me to the edge. I blink at the dip in the earth, and my toes hit the sandier mud.
I crouch down, touching the surface, feeling myself being pulled deeper. I don't realize I'm calf deep until something grabs my wrist, yanking me back.
"What?" I yelp and stumble against a firm body.
I twist around to find Jonathan staring down at me. At the corner of his almond-shaped eyes, crows feet form, lending warmth to his stony features. His nose twitches as he smiles, showing off his pearly whites.
"I think you should stay away from the water, Abigail." Although his voice comes softly, I hear it for what it is: a warning.
My skin prickles. Despite Jonathan's hold on me, I twist and peer down at the water. There it is again, the strange pull. Fingers dig into my hips and I catch myself leaning toward the depths.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," I murmur, closing my eyes.
Jonathan sighs. "A lot has happened in the last few days. Take a deep breath, relax."
He's right. A lot has happened and while he's a stranger to me, outside of our midnight share fest, I am at peace with him. Like some part of me knows who he is, which is ludicrous! I'm a fractious person, and he's so at ease with everything, so it seems his energy is washing over me.
Once the tension eases from me, Jonathan releases his hold and I move up the embankment. I can't just stay here indefinitely. Somehow I have to get back home, collect my belongings, and move on with my life.
"I need to go to the hotel and talk to Seth." Saying it out loud rattles my nerves, but it's what I have to do.
The quiet man behind me sighs. I sense him move up the embankment. "If you must. I'll be here if you need a place to stay. Green Meadow has always been a place for people to land, and to rest."
I need no more encouragement than that. I venture back inside the house and change into the only outfit I possess.
When I step onto the porch, Jonathan is there, leaning against the rail with his hands in his pockets. His eyes aren't looking at me, they're peering down at the purple carnations below the railing.
"
I remember when all these flowers were planted. The land was dug up, mulch trucked in, and I wasn't keen on the change, but looking at it now... I realize it was a pleasant change. What started out as unwanted, and maybe even a little ugly, turned into something breathtaking." Jonathan turns his attention toward me, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his eyes. "I wish you luck, Abigail."
I say nothing in return. Instead, I continue walking down the porch and down the long driveway. All the while, Jonathan's gaze is on my back.
Somehow, it seems like weeks ago, not a day ago, that I passed through the idyllic streets. The row of houses after the long driveway are straight out of a story. Each one possesses a picket white fence, with either a kid or a dog bounding around in excitement.
By the time I reach the gas station, the sun has lost its strength and is dipping down. The hotel wasn't far from here; I remember that. I keep walking until I see the sign.
Immediately, emotions rush toward me, filling me with anxiety.
Inside, the hotel is cool, soothing my heated skin. I advance on the concierge's desk, mustering a smile. "Good evening. I was wondering if room 202 checked out already."
"I'm sorry, I can't share that information with you."
"He's my fiancé. Seth Rogerson is staying in 202."
"Oh, okay. Let me see." She dips her head down, typing something into her computer. "Ah, okay. He just checked out."
I groan. "Thanks. I'm surprising him while he's down here working." Gathering humor I don't feel, I laugh and bring my palm to my forehead. "Time to catch him!"
Quickly, I walk outside and stand on the curb, assessing the parking lot. A Corolla pulls out of its space and comes toward the curb where I am. To my surprise, it's Seth.
My confidence falters as Seth turns his gaze in my direction. His head jerks away from me, then back again, but instead of surprise on his face, it's panic—and something else. His fingers grip the steering wheel as he stomps on the breaks. The mixed emotions on his face trickle to his jaw, and he clenches it.
Something in the Shadows Page 18
