Chapter 10
Preston dished up two plates of food, and we moved to the table. As we took our seats, he looked over at me and said, “It doesn’t take me long to get a feel for a person. You may not be the easiest woman to read, but I can tell you’re intelligent. That’s a quality I don’t come across often.”
He wrapped a strand of pasta around his fork and smiled, unfazed by the ridiculousness of the statement he’d just made.
“You realize that’s not much of a compliment, right?” I said.
“It isn’t?”
“No.”
“Most people would have smiled and said thank you. But you’re different. You questioned what I said.”
“I questioned how you said it.”
“Which proves my point.”
I shook my head. “Part of me thinks you’re charming. The other part thinks you’re impossible.”
“I don’t see why I can’t be both.”
As we ate, our conversation drifted to everyday topics: music, travel, and the changes the neighborhood had undergone over the years. When we were about finished, I said, “What do you do for a living?”
He moved his plate to the side, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I live for a living.”
“You don’t have a job?”
“I’ve never needed one. My father saw to that.”
“Are you saying you’ve never worked a day in your life?”
“Not unless you count surviving boarding school.”
I laughed. “Boarding school doesn’t count.”
“Then no.”
“What do you do with your time?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I travel the world. Italy. France. Scotland. Argentina. It helps keep life from getting too mundane.”
“What do you do when you’re not traveling?”
He gave the question some thought. “I golf.”
“Are you any good?”
“I’d say I’m better than most. I also ski, read, and collect wine. And on occasion ...” He lifted his glass. “I have dinner with a gorgeous woman like you. What about you? What do you do?”
“At the moment, I’ve been focusing on renovating the house. My mother passed away not long ago, and she left me enough money that I don’t need to rush back to work.”
“You’re taking some time for yourself. Time to heal. That’s good.”
“I think I owe myself the chance to slow down. My mother was sick for a long time, and I set everything else aside to take care of her. Now, I guess I’m trying to figure out what comes next.”
“I can relate.”
I raised a brow. “Somehow I don’t think our situations are the same. I can’t imagine you’ve ever had to worry about how your bills are going to be paid.”
“I suppose you’re right. There’s something I’ve been wondering. Of all the houses you could have bought, why that one?”
“When I walked through it, I thought it had charm and potential. It felt …” I searched for the right word. “Comfortable.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but in all the years I’ve lived here, never once have I looked at your house and thought there was anything appealing about it.”
“I guess it just spoke to me.”
“And what did it say?”
“I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.”
He pressed a hand to his lips, trying to suppress a laugh. “I like that answer.”
“I thought you might.”
“You know, many years ago, there was a man who seemed rather fond of staring out that upstairs window.”
My pulse skipped as I tried to steady my nerves. “Oh?”
“The fellow who lived there used to stand at the same window, looking through binoculars, just like you’ve been doing.”
I gave a small shrug. “I found the binoculars in a box in the attic. Maybe they were his. This man. What was he like? I’d love to know more about the people who have lived in this neighborhood.”
“Well now, let me think. It was a long time ago, and my memory isn’t what it used to be. I do remember he had a daughter, though her name escapes me. He and his wife kept to themselves, so I’m afraid there isn’t much I can tell you.”
Something about the answer felt rehearsed.
Too neat.
Too easy.
He remembered the binoculars.
He remembered the man had a wife and a daughter.
But somehow he couldn’t remember much else?
I wasn’t buying it.
“I heard something interesting the other day,” I said. “Someone told me a man who lived in that house died in an accident. I heard it was a hit-and-run.”
His wine glass stopped halfway to his mouth and then he set it back down. “Where did you hear that?”
“One of the neighbors mentioned it.”
“I see.”
“I also heard there was a witness. Someone who claimed he saw the accident.”
For the first time since we’d met, the effortless confidence I’d come to expect from Preston seemed to falter, if only for a second.
His jaw tightened, and I worried about what he might say next. But then he brushed it off, dismissing the thought with a casual wave of his hand. “The witness was an elderly man. Poor fellow was confused, and everyone knew he had terrible eyesight.”
“He said he saw you, didn’t he? It must have been awful, being accused of something you didn’t do.”
“I take it you’ve heard the whole story, then.”
“I have.”
“I hate to disappoint, but the whole thing wasn’t as dramatic as people make it out to be. It was a simple misunderstanding. My attorney handled it.”
Handled.
Something about the word gave me pause.
For the briefest moment, I thought I saw satisfaction flicker behind his smile. Like a man remembering a time when he’d gotten away with something.
If he wasn’t as innocent as he wanted me to believe, then I was more than willing to play along.
“I’m sorry you went through that,” I said.
“It was nothing. I survived.”
I suppose I didn’t fault him for saying it.
He’d survived the accusations surrounding my father’s death.
But secrets have a way of resurfacing when you least expect them.