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She pulled the car to a stop in front of the carriage house. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”
Oh, how I hated the way my stomach flipped when she said it.
“Daphne,” I warned. My heart was pounding.
“Maybe you should”—she gestured at my hair—“fix that.”
“Who is that?”
But did I immediately yank at my messy bun to try to smooth it out? Yes, because I wasn’t stupid. And I had a healthy enough amount of vanity that I didn’t want to needlessly walk into any situation with a bird’s nest in my hair if it could be avoided.
When my lungs seized on an I-can-do-this deep-breath attempt, she settled her hand on my arm. “You’ll be fine.”
My heart was racing. “Is it him?” I whispered.
She smiled. “Just go.”
I didn’t, though. I was terrified.
Excited.
A million other things that I could hardly name because they flew at me so fast.
“Charlotte,” she said gently.
I pinched my eyes shut. “I’m so scared,” I whispered. “What if he’s not here for ...” My voice trailed off, and I pressed my hand against my chest.
Carefully, my aunt pulled my hand away from where it was keeping my heart contained, and she pressed it between her own. “You won’t know unless yougo.”
I sucked in a deep breath and nodded.
My feet felt wedged in concrete blocks as I pushed open the door. My heart catapulted from head to toe and back again.
But still ... I had to fight the urge to run toward the house. I kept my steps measured, let my heart rate settle into something a bit calmer.
Yeah right.
Outside the front door, I paused before turning the knob. But the pause was short because, no matter what happened, I was ready.
No matter what happened in the next few minutes, I could handle it.
It was quiet when I opened the door. I glanced around but didn’t see him right away.
The lights were on in the house, the beautiful curve of the staircase railing gleaming underneath the gorgeous light fixture we’d installed. The stained floor was a warm, golden tone, and the wallpaper stretched all the way up to the top of the two-story entryway.
But it was when I registered something new that I blinked.
Against the wall was the console table from the carriage house. It was too small—the proportions weren’t right for the space—but while I stared at the yellow ceramic bowl that held our car keys, my heart thrummed dangerously fast.
I swallowed roughly, but it was almost impossible around the giant knot of emotion lodged in the back of my throat.
On the table was a laptop with a bright green Post-it stuck to the screen.
Press Play, it said.
Biting down on my lip, I scrolled on the mouse pad until the computer flickered to life. I moved the Post-it to the table, careful not to smudge his neat block handwriting.
When I shifted my attention back to the computer, leaning in slightly to read the screen, a shaky hand covered my mouth as I fought a smile.
