Page 52 of Where Roads Lead

Apparently, it didn’t warrant a response. Only the most dramatic of eye rolls. Somehow, it dulled the sense of victory.

“Just a minute,” a voice called from the other side of the door.

“Be nice,” I gritted out, staring up at Will with what I hoped would come across as a threatening glare.

The door opened and in its place stood a short, stout man who couldn’t be any younger than his seventies.

“Ah, are you the young lady come for the heater?” he asked, eyes scanning over the two of us.

“Yes, sir.” I smiled warmly.

“I see you brought your young man with you,” he said, eyes scanning between Will and I. “Good, because an old-timer like me will be useless in helping you drag the thing out to your car.”

My young man? I stared at Will with a muffled laugh at the assumption, before realizing it was probably my fault.

I took a generous step to the side, realizing I had severely invaded Will’s personal space in my haste to beat him to the knock.

“Oh, no, we’re not—” I started, but the old man had already turned on his heel to venture back into the house.

I stepped in, Will closely on my heel as we made our way through the eclectic home filled with more knick-knacks than a thrift shop.

“Just come down to the basement,” the old man called, already opening a rickety white door in the kitchen. “That’s where I keep it.”

“Okay!” I said, following him down the steps leading into the darkness of the cellar.

Will pulled my arm back with a forceful tug.

“Just so you know,” he breathed, hazel eyes blaring into mine, “you can’t be trusted to go anywhere by yourself ever again.”

I scoffed, shaking my head.

“Thanks for the concern, but look at the guy.” I stared down to where the old man was hobbling down the steps. “I think I’d be able to take him.”

He just shook his head in silent disapproval before cutting in front of me to head down first.

“Following old men into dark basements,” he muttered to himself. “Insane.”

The basement was dark, lit only by a singular lightbulb with a thin piece of string acting as a switch. The smell of must overwhelmed me, but I fought the urge to cough, thinking it might come across as offensive.

“Here it is, then.” The old man slapped a pudgy hand on top of an old, plug in heater. It might be from the nineties, but at least it was free.

I had to take wins where I could get them.

“Great,” Will said. “So glad we drove an hour and a half for a fire hazard waiting to happen.”

I elbowed him in the chest, hard. Unfortunately, it did more harm to me than it did to Will, who barely flinched.

“Well, thank you so much,” I said, trying to make up for his abrasiveness. “You saved me from the unfortunate fate of freezing to death over the winter,” I told him, moving toward the space heater.

“I got it,” Will said, stepping in front of me again.

“It’s not that heavy, Will. I can handle it.”

“Oh, let him take it.” The old man laughed. “That’s the thing about young men. They like to feel useful to their ladies. I remember that.”

“We’re not—”

“He’s not—”