26. #5
My thumb hovered over my phone before Reese's messages came back to me.
I sighed and unfastened my seat belt.
"I'll be quick."
Grant's came undone almost simultaneously.
I looked at him. "Grant it's fine. I'll be in and out."
He gaze let me know he disagreed.
I reached over and caught his arm before he could open the door. "Grant, it's my house."
"And?"
"And I don't need an escort to walk into a house I use to live in."
"There's nobody here."
"There's not supposed to be anybody here."
"Exactly."
I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped me. "How did you somehow make that sound suspicious?"
"Because it's night and you just told me there would normally be security here."
"Which is weird," I admitted. "But Alexander was fired. I'm sure everything is a mess right now."
Grant still didn't look convinced.
I leaned forward placing a quick peck on his lips.
"The purse should be in my closet. I'm going upstairs, grabbing it and coming right back out."
His eyes remained on mine for a moment before he settled against the seat again.
"Five minutes."
"Maybe seven. I have a lot of purses."
"Five."
"Six."
"Naomi."
I smiled as I opened the door. "I'll be right back."
The air had cooled considerably since we'd left the house, and I immediately regretted not grabbing something heavier to wear.
My keys were already in my hand by the time I reached the door. The lock turned easily, and when I stepped inside, I reached automatically for the alarm panel on the wall.
The screen was dark.
I pressed it once.
Nothing happened.
My brows pulled together.
Housekeeping had been coming by periodically since we'd moved into the White House, and there were still staff who had access to the property, so a disabled alarm wasn't impossible. Someone could've forgotten to reset it after leaving.
It was irritating more than anything.
I'd have to mention it to Vivian.
I closed the door behind me and slipped my shoes off near the entryway out of habit.
The house smelled exactly the same.
That surprised me.
Some faint mixture of the diffuser I'd always kept near the staircase and whatever cleaning products the staff used on the floors. I hadn't realized I'd associated the scent so strongly with living here until it reached me again.
For a moment, I simply stood there.
The foyer looked untouched.
A decorative bowl still sat in the center of the entry table. The framed photographs lining the wall hadn't moved. Even the arrangement of fresh flowers beneath the mirror had been replaced recently, their white petals opened toward a house nobody currently lived in.
I wondered who they were for.
Probably nobody.
They were simply part of maintaining the appearance of a home that no longer functioned as one.
I started toward the staircase.
My footsteps carried farther without the usual noise of televisions, staff or Rodney moving somewhere else in the house. I could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen and the rush of air moving through the vents overhead.
It wasn't frightening.
Just strange.
I had spent years wanting this house quiet.
Now that it was, I didn't particularly like it.
I climbed the stairs and turned into the hallway.
My bedroom sat at the far end.
Our bedroom.
Even after weeks away, I still hadn't figured out what to call it.
The closer I got, the more details I noticed that I hadn't thought about since leaving.
A small mark along the wall where movers had bumped one of my dressers.
The console table I'd spent three months searching for because Rodney had complained the original one looked cheap.
A photograph from one of his campaign events still sitting on top of it.
I slowed beside the picture.
Rodney and I stood in front of a crowd, his arm wrapped around my waist while I smiled toward a camera somewhere beyond the frame.
I looked happy.
I'm sure I wasn't.
I looked away from the photograph.
Reese's purse.
That was why I was here.
I continued down the hallway.
The bedroom door was already slightly open.
I didn't remember whether I'd left it that way the last time I'd been here, and there was no reason I should've. Housekeeping had been in and out since then.
I pushed it wider with my fingertips.
The room beyond it was dark.
My hand slid along the wall, searching for the switch in a place muscle memory still knew better than thought.
The lights came on.
My entire body locked.
For one disorienting second, my mind couldn't reconcile what I was seeing with what I had expected to see.
The bed.
The dresser.
The windows.
And Rodney.
He sat in the armchair near the far side of the room, one ankle resting over his opposite knee, his body angled toward the doorway as though he'd had nothing to do but wait for me to arrive.
My fingers were still touching the light switch.
Neither of us spoke.
Then Rodney's gaze traveled slowly over me before returning to my face.
"I was starting to wonder how long it would take before you finally came home."