Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“C’mon, let me feed you,” I said, suddenly feeling unsure of the menu I’d planned this week.
“Not cooking for one always sounds good to me,” he said with a laugh, but I heard the tension in his voice. If I didn’t have Grant to care for, would I even make an effort?
By the time he followed me back to my neighborhood, the weather was beginning to clear, with the sun peeking through the clouds.
8
Marcus
All it took was one storm and a chance text exchange for me to finally see where Delaney lived. It was a quaint neighborhood, and by the looks of the outside of his Tudor-style house, I’d probably love the interior too.
I parked behind him in the driveway, and as I turned off the ignition, I surmised that his square footage certainly beat my small bungalow’s as well. I couldn’t help being immediately envious because Delaney’s house had the kind of charm I wished mine had. It was older than other houses in this area but in good shape, and the exact reason I liked driving through this part of town whenever I had the opportunity.
Not that I was knocking my neighborhood. Everyone I’d encountered was friendly, and it was cool to live right around the corner from my mom. But this was the type of house I’d always aspired to own, even if it was different from Carmen’s idea of living on a ranch away from the city. I’d always hoped we’d reach a compromise, and I was gutted that I never had the opportunity to find out.
Delaney waited for me on the generous front porch. As I walked up the steps, I noticed the solid wicker furniture that resembled my own. I wondered if he sat out here as often as I did on mine. The backdrop of the fall leaves would make it totally worth using on a regular basis.
Inside, the place was just as impressive, and I took in the living room with the built-in bookcases, likely original to the house, and the dining area with its lovely crown molding. But before I could ask how old this structure was, I was assaulted by a blur of reddish-blond, fluffy fur.
“Hey, girl.” I squatted down to the dog’s level and petted her. When she licked my face, I laughed. “Ruby, isn’t it?”
“Don’t maul him,” a voice said from the other room, and then I saw him, his son, Grant. His dark hair was the only feature on him that resembled his dad, and from the photos we’d exchanged after group one night, I thought maybe his eyes and face shape favored Rebecca more.
No doubt, it was surreal to be a guest in their home after hearing about their lives for the past year. But maybe it was time. After all, he’d let me cry on his shoulder enough times since we met.
“Grant, this is my friend Marc,” Delaney said as Grant stepped fully into the room.
I lifted my hand in a wave. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”
“Yeah,” he replied, dipping his head in an awkward way, and it reminded me of how I’d respond as a kid getting introduced to adults. “Uh, Dad said your electricity went out?”
“Yep.” I glanced out the window, noting it was sunny. “How was the storm here?”
“It got pretty bad while I was in school.” He bent down to pet Ruby’s head. “The lights flashed a couple of times.”
“I’m just glad no trees went down around here,” Delaney said. “We’ve got some large maples.”
“It’s one of the things I like best about this part of town,” I said. “Guess it also has its drawbacks.”
“Totally. We hold our breath every storm,” he said, and Grant nodded. “Suppose we’re lucky our house is still standing.”
“I’m gonna guess this house was built pretty solidly, though,” I pointed out. “What year was that?”
“1908,” Grant piped in, and I smiled.
“Don’t get him started,” Delaney said. “He’ll tell you the history of the whole neighborhood.”
“Dad,” Grant muttered in a strained voice, his cheeks dotting pink, and I could see the tension between them. Delaney had mentioned it a couple of times, but I’d chalked it up to Grant being a moody, hormonal teenager. I certainly was no angel during that time of my life.
“Is that right?” I replied. “Well, I’m a bit of a history buff myself. Maybe not an expert like you, but I’ve had some cool stuff brought into my shop. Discovering the origin is always a treat.”
“Really?” Grant’s eyes lit up. “Any wardrobe pieces?”
“Unfortunately not. It’s not that kind of business.” I toed the hardwood floor, which looked to be original to the house as well. “But Cleveland definitely has its share of vintage clothing shops.”
“Oh, he’s well aware,” Delaney said. “Grant will have to show you some of the period pieces he likes to wear.”