Chapter 41
Tilda
I can feel myself grin as I step closer to the window.
Quackers, my friendly neighborhood duck, is in her new pool.
Joy overwhelms me.
At her apparent happiness.
At my sense of achievement for doing something right.
At the day that turned out to be pretty freaking good.
I shuffle a few inches closer to the glass, trying to be quiet, since the window is open and I don’t want to startle her.
While I was at the laundromat earlier, I used the internet to do a little research on ducks. And I learned that my duck is a girl. A mallard, I’m pretty sure. And I confirmed that no, you aren’t supposed to give ducks bread.
I also learned that there is a high probability that Miss Quackers will migrate in the winter, flying away to warmer pastures. And there’s a good chance her favorite color is either green or blue.
Quackers lets out a loud quack and splashes her wings against the water.
My grin widens.
I wonder if I should take one of the chairs from the back deck and put it out front.
It’s not like it’s ever more than just me out there, and if I set the chair far enough from the pool, maybe Quackers will still come play while I’m out there.
I glance across the living room at the back deck.
If I try to do it now, I’ll definitely scare Quackers off.
I eye the two boxes that I have left to unpack, sitting beside me below the windows.
The yellow strap things are still on top of one of them, and as tempted as I am to sit on the other box, I’m confident I’ll crush it.
So, I’ll stand here.
Shifting my weight, I cross my arms and lean closer to the glass.
Quackers steps up onto one of the big rocks I put in the pool, then hops up onto the ledge.
She lets out another squawk, then hops to the ground.
I start to frown, assuming she’s about to leave, but then she waddles over to her food dish.
My frown morphs back into a smile as she chomps away.
I need a picture of this.
Spinning away from the window, I rush over to where I left my phone on the coffee table and hurry back. Just in time to see Quackers pop her head up, ruffle her feathers, then take off flying.
“Well, poop.” My arms hang at my sides.
Of course she’d take off right when I got my camera.
I look back down at the food dish.
She’ll be back.
I start to turn back toward the living room when another noise catches my attention.
An engine.
Following Quackers’s lead, I let my flight mode activate and I hustle out of view, putting my back against the front door.
The sound of a vehicle gets louder.
I reach back and make sure the dead bolt is locked.
Maybe it’s a delivery. Just the UPS guy.
I bite my lip.
Except I haven’t ordered anything.
I look at the setting sun through the back windows.
It’s a little late for the post office. And they put all my regular mail in the mailbox.
My heart starts to pound.
I need a guard dog.
Or a bear.
Or a…
I lean to the side and look out the window.
A familiar white pickup with green lettering down the side pulls into view.
I flatten myself to the wall again, and this time my heart thuds for a whole new reason.
Ethan is here.
I look down at myself.
Why did I put on my oldest pajama shirt today?
The engine cuts off as he parks on the gravel in front of my house.
If I try to run for my bedroom, he’ll see me through the windows.
I really need to get curtains for the living room.
I look down at myself again.
I’m in my standard pajamas. A pair of non-thong underwear—today it’s bright green boy shorts—and a giant T-shirt that fits like a dress. This one is white, and even though it goes past my butt, it’s so worn you can see the green of my undies through it.
Maybe I can make it to the bedroom and change without him seeing me.
Maybe he parked facing away from the house.
Then I hear a door slam shut, and I know I’m stuck.
I hold my breath, like it’s a masked man approaching and not the man I made out with two hours ago.
A few seconds pass, then a fist pounds on the other side of the door.
I knew it was coming.
I know who’s there.
But my stupid body still reacts as though it’s completely surprised by the noise, and I let out a little shriek.
I slap my hand over my mouth.
“Tilda.”
Even through the door, his voice crawls across my skin, making my nipples tighten.
I lower my hand to my throat. “Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“Um…” I can’t think of a single answer. “Nothing. What are you doing?”
“Visiting you.”
“Why?”
I swear I can hear him sigh through the door. “I have something for you.”
My eyebrows raise. “Really?”
“Really.”
“What is it?”
“Tilda?”
“Yeah?”
“Open the door.”
I bite my lip.
Do I really know this man well enough to let him into my house?
“Please.”
If he’s going to ask nicely…
I run my fingers back through my mostly dry hair, pushing it out of my face, then I turn around and open the door.