Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Why the fuck is the driveway and sidewalk already shoveled?
Moving through the thick snow, I step out onto the small pathway that leads from the front porch down to the driveway and gape at it. There’s a soft dusting of snow covering the concrete, so whoever did this must have been here during the night.
My heart starts to pound again, and this time it has absolutely nothing to do with the shed monster.
A lump forms in my throat, and as I quickly slip into a world filled with blissful denial, I notice the dangerous icicles that were once dangling from the roof have also disappeared.
There’s only one person who would have done this, which means he knows I’m here. Or I can convince myself that some neighborhood kid shoveled the driveway in the middle of the night out of the kindness of his heart. Yeah, that doesn’t even sound a little bit believable.
This was Nick. It had to be. Sarah must have let it slip that I was here. Or Oxley. He seemed to know who Nick was. They might be friends, and it’s not as though I specifically asked either of them to keep my arrival on the down-low. I just thought I might have a little more time to prepare myself before having to face him. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that he didn’t come knocking on the door, or maybe he did and I was in too deep of a sleep to notice.
Shit.
Am I supposed to text him and say thanks or do I pretend that I have no idea who was responsible for this? Hell, maybe I’m wrong all together and Nana had a secret boy toy who came rolling back into town and decided to do her a solid by shoveling the driveway, not realizing she passed.
Who am I kidding? As much as I love living in this blissful denial, I have to face the facts—Nicholas Stone knows I’m home, and as nice as it was for him to clear the snow, I know him better than he knows himself. This was a message, a warning that I can’t hide from him for long. He’ll be coming for me, and when he does, he won’t hesitate to get the answers I’ve always feared giving him.
With all this extra time on my hands, I make my way around to the garage and spy Pop’s old truck. Nana used to drive it every now and then, so for the most part, it should still be good to run. But having said that, I haven’t had a single reason to get behind the wheel of a car in the past six years.
Shit. Do I even remember how to drive? Nick was the one who taught me, but that feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe I need to look up a quick YouTube tutorial, but for some reason, I feel that might not be the best idea.
After opening the old garage door and almost giving myself a hernia trying to lift the heavy fucker, I jump into Pop’s truck. Even after all these years, it somehow still smells like him. I jam the key into the ignition, and with nerves of steel, I kick over the engine, hoping like fuck it doesn’t spontaneously combust.
The truck rumbles beneath me, and a grin cracks across my face. Then just like Pop used to do, I put the truck into reverse and sling my arm over the back of the passenger seat headrest. After backing out of the garage and locking everything up, I get on my way, carefully maneuvering the familiar streets.
The town center is just like I remembered. A big dog park in the very center with a children’s playground to the right. The trees I remember planting during a school community project are as tall as mountains with bushy leaves covered in a thin layer of snow.
The stores line the opposite side of the road with parallel parking that I could never really wrap my head around. Getting into the space was fine, but I always messed up reversing out of it. Thinking about it as an adult, it seems so straightforward. I don’t know what I was so worried about. It probably goes hand in hand with the shed monster—irrational thoughts creating irrational fears.
Hardin’s Hardware is the first in line and probably the biggest store out of them all, and the only store in town that has its own private parking area, but I suppose if the guys with big trucks were always parking in the street, the traffic out here would be a nightmare. Next to that is the post office, and assuming everything is just as it’s always been, it’s run by Macey Lockwood—a stickler for the rules and one of the biggest pains in my ass. At least, she used to be. Who knows, maybe she’s not so bad anymore. Maybe she found herself a man to scratch that itch and she’s chilled right out.