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Bring kitchen into the 21st century
Freshen up bathroom and laundry
LEARN HOW TO USE FIREPLACE!!!!!!
My gaze lingers on the list. There’s a lot to do and certainly a lot that I have no ideahowto do. Either way, it’s daunting.
I might have to head down to Hardin’s Hardware and see if John is still running the show. He was always helpful . . . when he wanted to be. He was quite fond of Nana, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to give me a rundown on how to best tackle this job and maybe even suggest a good starting spot.
By the time I have completely filled three whole pages with lists of things I need to do, I grab the keys to Pop’s old truck and shove them deep into the back of my jeans pocket. I need groceries if I’m going to have any hope of surviving this, and in order to do that, I’m going to need to tackle the driveway.
Marching out the back door, I head straight to the old shed, slowly creeping toward it. When I was younger, I had irrational fears that a monster lived in here, and despite being a grown-ass woman and knowing better, I still hesitate, certain I’m about to face imminent death.
The shed door creaks open, and I let out a heavy breath, finding the snow shovel right by the front. With lightning speed, I wrap my hand around the handle and yank it out, letting the shed door slam closed behind me.
I sprint away from the monster’s lair, my heart pounding as I bring my knees up high with each step through the mounds of snow. Running in the snow has never been a strong point for me.
When I’m a few feet away from reaching the front yard, I stop running, needing to brace my hands on my damp knees to calm myself. That was way too much to deal with before eight in the morning. Either way, I survived the shed monster. Nana would be so proud.
“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself, taking deep, heaving breaths. I might have to keep this shovel outside while I’m here. I can’t risk facing that shit every damn morning. I don’t know how Pop managed to survive it all those years.
Dragging the shovel behind me in the snow, I make my way around the corner only to stop dead in my tracks. My brows furrow with confusion. “What in the ever-loving hell?”
Why the fuck is the driveway and sidewalk already shoveled?
Moving through the thick snow, I step out onto the small pathway that leads from the front porch down to the driveway and gape at it. There’s a soft dusting of snow covering the concrete, so whoever did this must have been here during the night.
My heart starts to pound again, and this time it has absolutely nothing to do with the shed monster.
A lump forms in my throat, and as I quickly slip into a world filled with blissful denial, I notice the dangerous icicles that were once dangling from the roof have also disappeared.
There’s only one person who would have done this, which means he knows I’m here. Or I can convince myself that some neighborhood kid shoveled the driveway in the middle of the night out of the kindness of his heart. Yeah, that doesn’t even sound a little bit believable.
This was Nick. It had to be. Sarah must have let it slip that I was here. Or Oxley. He seemed to know who Nick was. They might be friends, and it’s not as though I specifically asked either of them to keep my arrival on the down-low. I just thought I might have a little more time to prepare myself before having to face him. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that he didn’t come knocking on the door, or maybe he did and I was in too deep of a sleep to notice.
Shit.
Am I supposed to text him and say thanks or do I pretend that I have no idea who was responsible for this? Hell, maybe I’m wrong all together and Nana had a secret boy toy who came rolling back into town and decided to do her a solid by shoveling the driveway, not realizing she passed.
Who am I kidding? As much as I love living in this blissful denial, I have to face the facts—Nicholas Stone knows I’m home, and as nice as it was for him to clear the snow, I know him better than he knows himself. This was a message, a warning that I can’t hide from him for long. He’ll be coming for me, and when he does, he won’t hesitate to get the answers I’ve always feared giving him.
With all this extra time on my hands, I make my way around to the garage and spy Pop’s old truck. Nana used to drive it every now and then, so for the most part, it should still be good to run. But having said that, I haven’t had a single reason to get behind the wheel of a car in the past six years.
Shit. Do I even remember how to drive? Nick was the one who taught me, but that feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe I need to look up a quick YouTube tutorial, but for some reason, I feel that might not be the best idea.
After opening the old garage door and almost giving myself a hernia trying to lift the heavy fucker, I jump into Pop’s truck. Even after all these years, it somehow still smells like him. I jam the key into the ignition, and with nerves of steel, I kick over the engine, hoping like fuck it doesn’t spontaneously combust.
