Page 45 of Where Roads Lead

He pulled his phone out, flicked the light on, and handed it to me.

His screensaver was the traditional iPhone wallpaper, as if he had never changed it from its factory settings. I scoffed. Maybe he didn’t even know how to.

He was only a year or two older than me, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he was the type of guy who acted like an old man despite only being in their late twenties.

“Now, what would you have done if you needed to make an emergency phone call but couldn’t because you threw your phone somewhere in here earlier?”

“Then,” I huffed, extending an arm underneath the couch until I found the object in question, “I would run outside and yell ‘help’ which every single person would hear and come to assist because this town is so damn small.”

I handed his phone back with more force than I intended.

“Then why are you here if it’s too small for you?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” I told him with a scowl.

“So, do you then?” he asked gruffly.

“Do I what?” I retorted, an edge to my own voice.

I didn’t even know why we were arguing. All I knew was that being around him made everything feel heightened in a way I couldn’t explain.

I never wanted to back down when he stared at me with that challenging look in his eyes, and sometimes, it made me want to argue just for the sake of arguing. If only because I’d rather attribute the way my pulse spiked around him to agitation rather than any other reason I didn’t want to contemplate.

“Like it?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes,” I bit out. “I do.”

“Fine.”

And then the phone rang again, and before I even knew what I was doing, I pressed it up against my ear and shot out an aggressive, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Ms. Cameron?” The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Andrew. In fact, he sounded elderly.

I looked down at the phone, finding it to be a number not saved in my contacts. The Massachusetts area code was my only clue that it wasn’t a scam call.

“Yes, this is she,” I responded.

Will arched a brow, watching carefully.

“You can go,” I mouthed, gesturing him toward the door with a wave of my hand. But he stood still as a statue, waiting.

“Well, I’m just returning your call because you left me a message about this portable heater I’ve got here.”

“Oh!” I said, lighting up. “Hi! You’re the guy from Craigslist?”

“Sure am,” he chirped. “Anyhow, I was just calling to let you know that you can come pick up the heater anytime.”

“Perfect,” I said, elated at the thought of not having to spend another night shivering under a mountain of blankets. “Let me know your address, and I can come over now.”

“What?” Will said loud enough that I turned to walk to the other room. Plus, I needed paper to write down the information.

Predictably, Will followed.

At the kitchen counter, I pulled open my notebook and pen and gave the old man the go-ahead to tell me his address.

“Yup, got it,” I said, phone pressed between my shoulder and ear as I jotted it down. “Okay, thank you so much. I’ll be there soon.”

We hung up and I was face-to-face with a fuming Will.