Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
His eyes were hopeful yet confused. I didn’t have time to stand here and figure him out.
“Hey,” he replied. “I, uh…I’m just getting here,” he informed me.
“Oh.” I didn’t want to ask why, but I also felt as if he was standing there, waiting for me to ask.
“Must have been a dentist or doctor appointment day,” I said lightly as I began walking toward the workroom. Since he needed to go in that direction to get to his class, I didn’t think it was rude.
“No,” he said with a frown and a shake of his head. “I went outside this morning to head to work, but I had four flat tires. I did some inspecting because it’s weird for all four to be flat. And they had been slashed.”
My head snapped around to look at him. “What?” That sounded scary.
He shrugged and nodded. “Yeah. After, I got a tow truck, which cost money I had been saving for a boat—not to mention the four new tires I had to buy. Those aren’t cheap.”
“My apartment has video surveillance. Did you check with the office at yours?”
I knew he lived in an apartment because I’d had to hear all about the land he’d bought, and after he got the boat he wanted, he was saving to start building his dream home. A log cabin–style thing. I’d zoned out during that long story.
“Mine does too. And there was nothing. All night. Nothing. No strange vehicles, no one. The only person who got near my car was Mrs. Rochelle, who is eighty-three and tells me God is good every time I see her. There is no way she had the strength to shove a knife in my tires and do the damage that had been done. She had a walking cane in one hand and one of her numerous cats in the other. I mean, I couldn’t have driven over anything that did it. Even the man at the tire place said that it was vandalism. But”—he let out a heavy sigh—“how could it be?”
I stopped at the door to the workroom. “That’s crazy,” I replied. Although it sounded a little far-fetched to me. Like maybe he was lying because he’d needed to come in late for another reason he didn’t want to share.
He let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Unless the manager at the apartments has it out for me. He could have paused the cameras and slashed them. Although I don’t know why he would do something like that. I’ve never done anything to make him dislike me. Especially to the level of hate that would have taken. But he is the only one who had access to those cameras last night. He is also severely obese and gets winded when he stands up out of his chair. The idea of him walking out to my car and slashing my tires—I don’t think I could even get a blade in one myself.”
I scrunched my nose, not liking the way he had described the manager. That was rude. Maybe the manager did have a reason to slash his tires. Toby wasn’t a doctor. He didn’t get to label someone obese. Sometimes, I’m so tired after a long day that getting off my sofa makes me winded. Jerk.
“Sounds like a conundrum,” I replied and opened the door. “I gotta go get some work done.”
He nodded with the perplexed look still on his face. “Yeah, uh, are we good?” he asked.
I nodded. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” Was this still about the migraine?
The crease between his eyes eased some. “Well, I know you weren’t feeling well, and I probably sent too many texts. I’m sorry about that. I can be like a dog after a bone sometimes.”
Had he just referred to me as a bone? I stared at him for a moment, then cleared my throat, not sure how to tell him that I’d gotten drunk and deleted the texts and had no idea what he’d said.
“Just been busy. I’ve got a lot of unread texts I haven’t had time to catch up on. Too many things at once to juggle.”
Hopefully, he didn’t know me well enough to know the little round red circle with a number over any of my apps drove me bonkers. I felt unorganized and behind on my tasks. They weren’t allowed to stay there long.
He nodded, looking embarrassed for asking. “Right. Like I said, I get committed to something sometimes, and I can’t stop. Sorry about all the texts. When you hadn’t responded on Sunday, I should have left you alone. I swear I will wait until you can catch up.”
On Sunday? He hadn’t texted me since Saturday.
My small laugh was so forced that a child would know it was fake. “Right, well”—I held up the papers in my hand—“gotta get this done.”