Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“The walls in here were always cream with white trim. Always.” Worth sounded legitimately pained. Not mad. Hurt. “And there’s no furniture in here other than that old couch.”
He pointed at my parents’ old leather sectional, the only furniture downstairs besides a kitchen table and some chairs. The place was definitely a work in progress.
“Worth.” Taking my chances with the dog, I approached him. “You knew the house wasn’t going to be the same, right?”
Mouth clamped shut, he shook his head.
“It’s had a number of owners since the original estate auction and sale.” I didn’t need to point out that he hadn’t come home for that either, letting the probate process play out from a distance. With no other family to speak of, he’d received the funds from the sale but had clearly failed to process that the house as he knew it was gone. “Partial renovations, bad renters, vandalism, squatters, failed purchases. The house has been through a lot the last twenty years.”
And so had he, not that he seemed inclined to open up to me about the life he’d led away from Safe Harbor. The life he’d now, apparently, lost. He’d arrived here looking for a past that no longer existed, and it broke my heart more than a little that he wouldn’t find it here.
“Getting it to this point has been months of work. Monroe’s guy, Knox, is a contractor and an artist. And thrifty. While trying to stay true to the house’s character, he did raid the bargain paint bin.” I gestured at the walls, which transitioned colors from room to room: navy here near the entrance, olive green in the living room, ruby in the dining room beyond that, a hint of marigold showing from the kitchen in the rear of the house. A very Northwest palate of muted but abundant color, including painted shelves and accent pieces like the built-ins and fireplace surround.
“I’ll say.” Worth swallowed hard enough to make me fear he might hurl on the polished hardwood floors. “I don’t hate it. It’s just…”
“Not home?” I suggested. He blanched, pale skin going more pasty, so I softened my voice further. “I’m sorry it’s not what you were expecting. But I like the colors, and I think my kids will too.”
“You have kids?” His eyebrows shot upward. “Are you old enough? Wait. Of course you’re old enough.”
“I’m thirty-five now.” I kept my voice patient. In fact, there were times I felt behind on my dreams. I’d wanted a large family since childhood but always assumed I’d find “the one” first. Then, I’d been able to put an inheritance from my grandparents into buying this house. It was past time to chase my parenthood goals, partner or not. “But I’m talking about the teens I help. That’s my whole purpose in buying the property. It’ll give me more options, especially for teens under eighteen. I’ve spent the last year working to become a certified foster parent.”
As a single guy, I faced a bit of an uphill battle in that department, but Worth didn’t need my bureaucratic complaints, not when he looked in danger of keeling over any second. I could already tell that any attempts to have him sit or coddle him would be met with resistance, so I shifted my focus to the other pressing problem.
“Let’s take the dog to the laundry room sink.” I briskly led the way through the living and dining rooms to the kitchen and the laundry room beyond that, which contained a washer and dryer along with a deep industrial sink perfectly sized for a small-to-medium dog. I gestured for Worth to set Buttercup in the sink. She whimpered like Worth was abandoning her on an iceberg, but my concern was more for Worth’s shaking hands. “Are you okay?”
“Not sure. Might be having an out-of-body experience.” Worth gave an unsteady laugh. “I keep seeing colors where they’re not supposed to be.”
“Are you sober?” Placing a hand on the dog to keep her from jumping out of the sink, I peered more closely at Worth. Buttercup wasn’t the only one who needed a shower. His suit was rumpled to the point that I wasn’t sure the cleaners downtown would be able to fix it. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, which could be exhaustion or something more concerning. “Take anything today I should know about?”
“Thought about it.” Worth slumped against a nearby utility stool. “But no. My stupid stomach can’t handle half a cocktail anymore. My body won’t let me get drunk, and I’m too broke for other types of highs.”
“Not exactly reassuring.” I pointed at a shelf full of emergency supplies, like a flat of water bottles, behind us. “Grab a drink. Start chugging.”
“You’ve gotten bossy.” Worth obeyed, then made a face as he swallowed some water. “Let’s hope that stays down,” he muttered before taking a second sip. “Sorry. You’ve got the dog to worry about. You don’t need me too.”