This summer it was the most she’d ever packed, she noted. Then again, the two years she just spent subletting was the longest she’d ever spent in one place. Guess in sticking around, she’d acquired a few more things.
Closet done, she reached for her satchel, the final part of her ritual. Immediately, her fingers found her most prized possession. The ceramic mug was cool to the touch despite sitting in her bag all day long. Hard to believe that once upon a time, brightly painted flowers had circled its surface. They were nothing more than faded speckles of paint now. There was a crack along the top of the handle from too many washings. Smiling, Kelsey cradled the mug in her palm. She could picture the same mug, colors still bright, resting on a countertop, a female hand pouring coffee into it. If she tried really hard, she could picture her mother bringing the cup to her lips, though as time passed, that memory got harder and harder to conjure up.
All of a sudden she felt overwhelmingly small and alone, as if the simple act of remembering transported her back in time. For a moment, she wasn’t a grown woman controlling her own destiny, but a little girl back in the system, gripping the last talisman she had from her old life. Living with her mother hadn’t been great, but at least she’d been wanted. At least that’s how she chose to remember those years.
She leaned against the headboard, knees drawn close, the mug pressed to her breast. This was part of the routine too, this momentary lapse into loneliness. She’d get over it soon enough. She always did. Soon as she familiarized herself with the surroundings. Although this time the feelings were stronger than usual. Hardly surprising given Alex’s animosity.
She gave herself five more minutes of self-pity, then put the emotion back on the shelf and walked to the window. Her bedroom overlooked a less landscaped part of the garden, closer to the trees, increasing the feeling of isolation. Outside, through the tree line, she noticed the sky still bore traces of daylight even though it felt far later. “Country living,” she mused, raising the sash. The greeting quiet was unsettling. Nothing but the rustle of leaves and a few intermittent high-pitched trills. How on earth would she sleep without the under-current of traffic? Or streetlights? Didn’t Markoff believe in outdoor lighting?
Of course not, she answered with a roll of her eyes. Lights would ruin the whole “darkness” theme he had going.
To her right, a branch snapped. She leaned over the sill, half expecting—or maybe fully expecting—to see a wild animal dashing out from the trees. What she saw instead surprised her more. It was the silhouette of a man.
Markoff.
He was walking the perimeter of the property, just inside the tree line. Head down, he picked his way carefully, as if counting his steps. Kelsey watched him approach with a catch in her throat. He looked so alone. Not at all like the hostile man who had greeted her this afternoon. This man reminded her of a specter. That was the only word she could think to describe him. There but not there.
He came closer, and Kelsey drew back, not wanting to get caught watching. No sooner did she pull into the shadows than she noticed he’d stopped. His face slanted upward to her window. Kelsey stifled a gasp. What light remained hit his eyes just right, turning them to shining silver. Even from two stories up, she could see the emotion churning behind them, bright and unguarded. She couldn’t name what emotion she saw, but whatever it was, it struck a familiar chord, pulling her in and making her insides twist. It felt like he was looking straight at her. Or rather, inside her. Which was silly, since he couldn’t see her from where she stood.
Eventually he moved on, leaving the night air charged with his presence. Quietly, Kelsey lowered the shade. A few moments later, she heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by a bedroom door clicking shut.
His room was next to hers. She hadn’t realized. Through the wall, she heard the scraping of a chair and she swore what sounded like a long, desolate sigh followed by another and another, each sounding more frustrated than the next. Suddenly there was the rattling rush of glass and paper punctuated by a groan. The door opened and footsteps, heavy, angry footsteps, sounded in the hall. Kelsey knew the front door would slam before she heard it.
Okay, so maybe she was wrong about the nighttime quiet. But she was right about it being a long summer. Maybe she should have stayed in New York and worked those three jobs after all.
And be tied to Grandma Rosie’s debt for even longer.
Letting out a long breath, she collapsed backwards on the bed. “Thanks a lot, Grandma,” she muttered. Looked like Markoff wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a choice.
CHAPTER TWO
“ALL I can say is thank God for coffee. Especially—” Kelsey took a long sip “—fresh-ground Italian roast. I swear this stuff might be the only thing keeping me upright today.”
Her companion, a large orange tabby, said nothing. Kelsey had found the furry critter dozing on the terrace when she arrived at dawn, and he’d been keeping her company ever since. She suspected the animal was a stray. Unless Alex had a hidden soft spot, she didn’t see him as the pet-owning type.
Then again, those eyes she saw last night definitely hid something….
Forget it. He didn’t deserve sympathetic thoughts. Not after the way he kept her up last night with his continual pacing and sighing.
“I thought writing was a sitting profession, not one that required moving across the floor all night long.” She took another drink and waited for the caffeine to kick in. She was going to need to be alert if she was going to spend the day deciphering his handwriting. “I’ll tell you one thing, Puddin’-cat, I don’t care how brilliant a writer he is, the man definitely needs to improve his social skills. He acts like my being here is some kind of plague. How much you want to bet he’s annoyed that I helped myself to the coffee this morning?”
The cat pulled a paw over its eyes in response.
“Exactly,” Kelsey replied. “Though seems to me, if you’re going to leave a fresh pot brewing at the crack of dawn, you shouldn’t be surprised when people help themselves.” The smell alone had been nirvana after a sleepless night. “Fair’s fair, right?”
“Who are you talking to?”
Kelsey nearly jumped out of her skin. Standing at the edge of the terrace was a very dark and bothered Alex Markoff.
Immediately, her insides somersaulted. How was it he could look so intimidatingly perfect at this hour? He wore a navy blue T-shirt the same shade as his sling, the hem of which skimmed the waistband of his jeans. Jeans, she noted, that looked made to hug his hips. He’d been up and about from the looks of it. His skin glistened with perspiration, the moisture darkening the collar of his shirt. Dark curls peeked out from the back of his neck with the unruliness that only came from damp hair. Though it shouldn’t, seeing them made her wonder what he might look like stepping from the shower.
“Good morning,” she said once she caught her breath.
He stared at her with unreadable eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you talking to?”
“Just the—” She pointed to the sunny spot on a terrace that was now deserted. “Myself.”
“Do you always do that?”
“When there’s no one else to talk with. What’s that they say, ‘You’re your own best company’?”
“So I’ve always
