Still dead. Dammit. She’d half-forgotten the reason she’d plowed into the man’s house in the first place. Tiptoeing to the door, she pressed an ear to it and listened. Hearing nothing, she unlocked—thankfully she hadn’t completely lost her mind and managed to lock it despite her haze to get into the shower—then opened the door and found both of her suitcases waiting as promised.
No purse, though. Her charger was in her purse. Not going to be here long enough to matter. I can stop somewhere on the road and charge the phone.
One arming each case into the room, she kept a firm grip on the towel. The last thing she needed was to flash anyone—not the hot guy or his parents. Parents made the hot guy less creepy, right? Cases in the room, she relocked the door. It took her a couple of minutes to locate clean, dry clothes and fresh underwear. Cause putting her big girl panties on actually required the items in question.
Considering she didn’t know her hosts, she picked jeans and an oversized t-shirt to cover the sports bra. Despite her lack of boobage, she didn’t want to go without, and not for the first time, she wished she organized her packing. She’d literally dumped her clean laundry into both cases and slammed them shut. With no intentions of returning to Maine, she took what would fit and trashed the rest.
Stop. Shaking her head, she checked to make sure she’d stuffed any escapee clothes back into the suitcases, then carried the towels to the bathroom to hang them up. Her damp clothes waited for her on the counter. All she needed was a plastic bag to stuff them in, then she could load into her car and get back on the road.
Pausing at the window, she glanced at the steadily falling rain. The unrelenting steel gray skies cast shadows everywhere. The yard behind the house, however, was lovely. Huge rose bushes twining around a gazebo and along a trellis, which surrounded what looked like a fire pit or maybe it was supposed to be a pond. Pressing her fingers to the glass, she squinted past the garden sitting area to the apple trees beyond. Did the house front an orchard?
She hadn’t really paid much attention when she’d followed the winding road to the isolated location. She’d counted two additional houses just down the hill. No others were visible from her vantage point. Curiosity nibbled at her, but Colby straightened. The rain wouldn’t let up anytime soon and by the time it was pretty enough to explore, she could be halfway to Florida.
Finger combing her damp hair, she retreated to the bathroom once more. The room was well-stocked for guests including a new toothbrush still in its package and a comb. Borrowing the latter, she smoothed it through her hair. She needed to get it trimmed again soon. She’d cut it all off after her sentencing. The close cropped cut had grown though and feathered along her neck and drew ever closer to her collarbones.
She couldn’t arguably call it a page boy anymore no matter how much she might…pausing, she derailed the train of thought heading to Grand Central Station and set the comb down. One more glance around the bathroom, and she tried to make it as neat as possible before shutting off the light and carrying her damp clothes to her bags. Ignoring the lack of plastic, she rolled them tight and shoved them in the top of one.
Florida has washing machines. No more dilly dallying. The sooner she got in the car, the sooner she was gone. Luc hadn’t paid her the balance of what he’d promised. On the other hand, she wasn’t totally broke either. The hallway from the guest room opened into the foyer. She carried her bags to the front door, but her car was no longer parked out front.
Car keys.
Crap.
Biting off a more vehement swear word, she set her bags down and counted to ten. The delicious scents of steak and coffee invited her to return to the kitchen. Despite the grumbling of her stomach, she only wanted her keys and to slip away without rocking any boats. Her host—whose name was…Brett!—delivered her bags but failed to leave the car keys.
If she knew how to hotwire a car, she could skip going into the kitchen altogether. The urge to flee bubbled up from deep within her soul. The sensation of itching inside her skin froze her in place, then pissed her off.
Why the fuck do I want to run? She hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. The car was hers. The keys were hers. She’d done Luc a solid. Yes, for money, but a favor nonetheless. Her host was exactly that, a host, not a prison guard or the charge nurse or even her probation officer. Chin up and shoulders back, she strode through the dining nook off the foyer and into the kitchen.
If the scents had beckoned her before, they were downright mouthwatering when she stepped into the spacious kitchen. Bright lights chased away the earlier feelings of shadow and doom. Steak sizzled on a pan, and mounds of fried potatoes sat in a bowl place in the center of the island. The coffee maker issued a beep, announcing the brewing had finished. Assaulted on all sides by the goodness, she forgot what she’d been about to say.