That massive truck definitely doesn’t belong to any of my neighbors, and Landhorne Lane isn’t the kind of street that gets a lot of random visitors.
There are only four houses on the lane, two on each side. My house is the smallest, but it’s also the cutest with white shutters, a cozy front porch, and a cornflower-blue front door. I spent all morning painting it in time for the viewing tomorrow. I’m hoping the splash of color will be enough to distract the potential buyers from looking at the monstrosity next door.
The Jackson house.
The truck with the blinding headlights turns onto their driveway.
I slip my finger between the pages of the book so I don’t lose my place and clamber up to my knees to get a better look. Who’s going over there at six p.m. on a Saturday?
It’s not the Jacksons. They never visit anymore. As far as I can tell, they’ve left the place to rot after Earl Jackson became some kind of a confectionary mogul in Kansas City.
The door of the truck swings open, and a long jean-clad leg appears.
I press the book against my chest.
Is that…
Hold on a sec.
Rowan Miller?
The man himself climbs out of the truck in a leather jacket that fits his broad shoulders so well it should be criminal.
My lips tighten in disapproval.
It’s been four months since Rowan came to Darkwater Hollow with his business partner, and in thosefour freaking months, he’s managed to sleep with half the town’s female population. Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, but my point stands—the guy’s a womanizer.
As far as I’m concerned, there are few things worse than a handsome man who knows he's handsome, and Rowandefinitelyknows.
He walks around town with that insufferable swagger and a permanent cocky smirk on his face. His attitude reminds me a bit of Brett—my ex—another tall, handsome guy, who turned out to be a liar and a cheat.
I frown at Rowan’s silhouette. Did the Jacksons hire him to fix their place up?
My gaze drifts over the dead plants, the overgrown path that leads to the creaky front porch, and the sagging boxes filled with God knows what stacked haphazardly by the front door.
That property is a freaking nightmare. No wonder I haven’t gotten any offers on my own home. Who wants to live next to a place that looks haunted? It really does, complete with a steeply pitched roof, peeling black exterior, and a turret.
Rowan shuts the truck and rakes his fingers through his slightly wavy dark hair. He glances around the yard and then moves toward the front door, a set of keys jingling in his hand.
It’s late for an appointment, isn’t it?
Wait a sec.
There is a mattress in the back of his truck…and a bunch of cardboard boxes…
Is he…moving in?
My eyes widen as he unlocks the front door and steps inside.
What the hell?
The book falls out of my hands, nearly knocking over the full mug of tea that’s beside my empty one on the windowsill.
This is bad.
I snatch my phone up and press one on speed dial.
Del picks up on the first ring. “Aw, do you miss me already?” Wind crackles over the line. “It’s only been like five hours since we last spoke.”
