Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 154595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
She headed downstairs.
It’s just a basement.
It can’t hurt you.
Walking into the kitchen, she swallowed heavily.
She tiptoed into the kitchen. She didn’t know why she thought it would be better if she moved quietly. It wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong. She only came down here to use the laundry and she put that off as long as possible.
She’d taken to washing her underwear in the sink upstairs and drying them in the bathroom.
Opening a cupboard, she started to search for the vase. Where the heck had she seen it? She started with the higher cupboards, then crouched to look through the bottom ones. Where was it, though?
Finally, she found it right at the back. She was pretty much half in the cupboard when she heard a noise behind her.
Stupidly, she froze.
Yeah, she knew that was the last thing she should actually do. If someone was there and they planned to hurt her, then she was in an extremely vulnerable position.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Although did it sound like someone breathing? She reached into her pocket to grab her switchblade, thankful she’d brought it with her. She drew herself quickly out of the cupboard, hitting her head as she did. Tears filled her eyes, but she made herself jump up, her knife at the ready.
Only, there was no one there.
Well. Heck.
That was anticlimactic.
But what made that noise? She looked around, but the kitchen wasn’t that big.
“Urgh, at least no one saw me,” she muttered. “That would have been highly embarrassing.”
“Who are you talking to?”
She spun at the voice, relief filling her as she saw the lady who lived across from her standing there. What was her name? Mrs. Andrews? Mrs. Sanders?
“Sorry. No one.”
“Why you got that knife out?” she asked suspiciously.
Shoot. That was hard to explain.
“Ahh.”
“Did you see one of those giant rats again?” the older lady asked, peering around suspiciously. “The other day, I saw one running around with a whole block of cheese in its mouth.”
Gross.
No, she had not seen a giant rat. And she didn’t want to see a giant rat. Who knew there was such a thing as giant rats? Weren’t they already big enough? Why make them bigger?
Okay. Chill, Maeve.
It’s just a rat. It’s not like it can hurt you.
“Well? Did you see one?” she barked.
Mrs. Ellis. That was her name.
“Yeah . . . yeah, I did.” She didn’t think it was a lie since that’s probably what she’d heard. A huge, enormous rat. She shuddered, feeling ill.
But she made herself tuck away the knife.
Mrs. Ellis grunted. “You look pale. You need to toughen up.”
Funny, she’d thought she was pretty tough. But she’d only just learned about the existence of giant rats, so what did Mrs. Ellis expect?
“Um, right. I need to get a vase.”
“Back cupboard.”
“Good. Good.” She opened it cautiously, not wanting anything to jump out at her. Grabbing the vase, she held it tight, then headed out of the kitchen while Mrs. Ellis muttered about rats stealing all her food.
She was never, ever going back to the kitchen. She wondered if she could wash all of her clothes in the sink in her bathroom. Or maybe she’d pay to take them to a laundromat.
Yep, that could work better.
Rushing into her room, Maeve shut the door behind her and breathed in deeply. She felt shaky and sweaty. Between thinking someone was in the room with her, to learning of the existence of rats big enough to carry off an entire block of cheese . . . yeah, she didn’t need any more excitement in her life.
Gray was feeling odd.
He didn’t quite understand what this feeling was . . . it made him feel light. He’d never felt light in his life.
What the fuck was going on? He’d whistled. He never whistled. Did he know how to whistle? Apparently, he did.
And sometimes, his lips turned up in a smile.
Okay, he needed to do something about this, because it was disturbing. He shook his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. About how she didn’t have a decent jacket. What if she didn’t have enough clothing for the coming colder months? What if she couldn’t heat that chilly place she lived in?
And gloves. She definitely needed a decent pair of gloves. Her hands were freezing. And her feet.
Okay, stop thinking about Maeve.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Booty. Call.
But his lips were twisting up in another smile as he thought of her eating that pile of pancakes, her mouth sticky with syrup.
Fuck. All the guys were looking at him strangely. They were going to start to think he was dying of some strange disease or something.
Sometimes he thought he might be.
He ran his hand over his face, pulling out his phone as it buzzed. His eyebrows rose and this happy feeling filled him as he saw it was from Maeve.
She’d never texted him. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been waiting for this. For her to reach out.