I wave at the pile of trash. “The Jacksons don’t care about their place, but I care about mine. I won’t let you get away with this.”
He drags a palm over his chin, his expression turning thoughtful. “What’s the big deal? I’m not planning on leaving it there forever.”
“No. You can’t leave it thereat all, okay?” Nicole is going to be here first thing in the morning.
He raises his palms. “Fine. I’ll clean it up.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Good.” I flick my hand between his property and mine. “There’s history here, and it’s not pretty. The last time someone lived in that house, they brought a band of degenerates with them.”
“A band of degenerates?” His lips twitch. “Where can I find this band? They sound like a great time.”
My eyes narrow. “That’s not funny. They broke the fence at the back, and no one’s fixed it. They—“
“Why don’t you write it all down?”
“Huh?”
“Write down your…list of grievances. Sounds like it might be a long one.”
“To what end?”
“So that I don’t have to listen to you complain about each little thing. Write 'em down, and I'll take care of them all.”
I scowl. “Is this your way of trying to get me off your lawn? An empty promise to solve all my problems?”
He shrugs. “Write the list and see how empty my promises are.”
He can’t be serious. When something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. But it would be stupid not to take him up on that offer, even if the likelihood of him doing what he says is low. “Fine. I’ll go do that. Right now. Stay right here.”
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving.” His gaze bores into me to the point of discomfort. His hazel eyes are dark and thoughtful, and they flicker with the slightest hint of mischief.
I step away from him, and it feels like breaking through a force field. It’s easier to breathe, easier to think with some distance between us.
Don’t trust him, my gut says.No matter what promises he makes.
He huffs a low breath, like he’s amused with me. I spin on my heel and march back inside my house, but the whole time, I feel his gaze warming my back.
Inside, I don’t bother taking off my shoes. I barrel straight to the kitchen where I keep my notepad and pen, and I write down everything that’s bothering me about that damn house, from the broken fence to the banging shutters.
Rowan was right about one thing.
It’s a long list.
I’m half expecting him to not be there when I come back out, but he’s in the exact spot I left him, arms crossed over his chest and face turned up to the sky.
I pause just on the edge of my porch. What is he doing? Looking at the stars?
The moon has been out since late afternoon, a pale orb in the sky. Now that it’s dark out, its full silver glory casts a shadow behind Rowan’s imposing form.
The image of him in the moonlight with that old house looming behind him and the dead grass at his feet imprints on my mind. He looks like a dark god coming to rule over his shadowy kingdom.
I shake my head. This is what I get for reading dark fantasy books late into the night.
I walk over to him, and his gaze slowly drops down to me. His expression is unreadable. He plucks the piece of paper out of my hand, unfolds it, and begins to read.
