Chapter 48
Tilda
The coffee is warm and sweet when it reaches my tongue, and I take my time savoring the moment.
The sun is rising on the front side of the house, and sitting in the shadows on the back deck, I’m glad I traded my pajamas for my pale blue sweatpants and matching hoodie.
I take another sip.
Last night…
I breathe in the crisp mountain air.
Last night was an experience.
We didn’t even get naked, but it was still quite possibly the most sexually intense moment of my life.
I’m twenty-nine. I’ve been with guys before.
But none of them were like Ethan.
None of them demanded my attention like a gravitational pull.
I think back to that day nearly three weeks ago, when a stranger knocked on my door and changed my life with a letter.
I think about the sadness and the fear and the little bit of excitement I felt.
Sadness over losing Uncle Jack. Over not getting to say goodbye.
Fear over the unknown. Over leaving the only city I’ve ever known.
I smile at the forest that surrounds me.
Excitement over the possibilities.
Excitement of escaping what had been laid out for me.
The chance to alter my timeline.
But even then, even with the idea of a new future before me, I never counted on Ethan.
Never could’ve dreamed him up.
I lift my empty hand and bring my fingertips to my lips.
Even if we stop here.
Even if I only ever see him again in passing.
Even if I never touch him again.
I have no regrets.
My smile grows as a sense of pride fills my chest.
I can’t believe he came in his pants.
Because of me.
Taking another sip of coffee, I appreciate the stillness around me.
It’s amazing, the difference between here and where I came from.
If I’d had a patio to sit on at my old apartment—which I didn’t—I’d be listening to traffic. To horns honking. To sirens. To people talking and laughing and shouting.
I wouldn’t be in sweatpants.
I’d be in a skimpy dress, and I’d still be sweating my boobs off.
I’d be drinking an iced coffee, not a hot one.
I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the mountain.
The leaves shifting in the breeze. The happy, chirping birds.
I really, truly get it, Uncle Jack.
I’m still not sure what I’ll do for work. But I’m not going to stress about it. I’ll get by.
My eyes open, and I tilt my head to the side.
Is that…?
I stand and carry my coffee through the empty screen door, into the house.
My bare feet are quiet on the floor as I cross the living room.
Beauty and the Beast was playing while I fell asleep, but this morning, I turned the TV off.
I decided to absorb the silence.
But then I opened the windows, and the house filled with birdsong. It’s still quiet, but not the overwhelming silence I’ve been dreading.
And through the open front windows, I hear the unmistakable sound of a vehicle coming up the driveway.
Opening the front door, I step outside, mug in hand, and wait for Ethan.
The noise of tires on gravel gets louder.
My mouth starts to pull up into a smile as my bare toes curl against the cool concrete steps.
But then the vehicle comes into view. And my smile stops.
Because it’s not a white pickup truck. It’s a black SUV.
I freeze.
They found me.
I take a step backward, up the stairs.
They…
With the engine still running, the SUV stops, the driver’s door opens, and a man I don’t recognize steps out.
Not my family.
Not my family, but still a stranger in a black suit.
I take another quick step backward so I’m standing in the threshold, able to sidestep and slam the door shut if needed.
Sensing my unease, the man holds up his hands. “Morning.”
My gaze zeros in on the white envelope in his grip.
The same type of white envelope that was delivered to my apartment nearly three weeks ago.
He stops when he’s still several yards away. “Miss Wright?”
“Who’s asking?” I try to keep my voice steady.
He holds the envelope higher. “I have a delivery for you, prearranged for today by a man named Jack.”
I bite my lip.
He could be lying.
This could be something else.
But… I don’t think that’s true.
Slowly, I move back onto the top step and hold my hand out.
The man crosses the distance between us and sets the envelope on my palm.
He dips his chin. “Have a good day.”
Then he turns around, gets back into his SUV, and rather than attempt to turn it around in front of the house, he backs down the driveway, disappearing from view.
With my heart working overtime, I stare at the envelope in my hand.
Jack sent me another letter. And I have no idea how to feel about it.
But ten minutes later, the winning emotion is undeniable.
Dread.