closing the car door.
We walked through tall tangles of weeds. Shadows hung like curtains from the towering oaks. Countless leaves, scattered by the wind, heavily covered the porch and crunched under foot. We ducked beneath the branches of ancient oaks, stepped over twisted and mangled roots, and marched past a dilapidated black Plymouth Fury brooding in the unruly grasses. We marched up the steps. I glanced back at the car with a smile. “Hello Christine.”
Trent stood before the oak doors of beveled glass. He glanced over his shoulder. “A King fan, huh?”
“Who isn’t?”
I tripped, but Trent caught me. He turned to stare down into my face. “Ya know? I’m glad you could hang out today.”
His cocky smile made my heart knock against my ribs. “Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because I figured you’d appreciate a tour. Being a future architect and all.” He frowned. “Was I wrong?”
Uh, yes! You big dummy. I like you. Is this not a date? Because I wanted to spend the day with you, not your spooky old house. God, your lips are so kissable—
“No.” I kicked at the grass with my boot. “Is Mr. Evans here?”
Trent lounged against the splintered porch rail. “Nope. He’s finishing another project in Castro Valley today. He won’t be back until later tonight. Just you and me.”
My eyes took in the terrain, the untamed front garden. The grass stirred. Black bodies slipped between the shadows cast by the trees, hiding from the filtered sun.
“Do you mind helping with a few chores while I give you the grand tour? Don’t want you to get lost on your first day.”
“It depends.” I attempted to sound nonchalant. “Knowing me, I probably would get turned around. This place is wicked monstrous.”
“You have no idea.” Trent searched the pockets of his untucked shirt for the key. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms. He looked extra hot in his signature bad-boy, borderline Goth look, with his faded jeans and black boots. Spiky and tousled hair. Snug black shirt. Hard to believe this guy attended one of the most prestigious prep schools in northern California. Hard to believe he wanted to spend time with me.
Trent inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the door with a resounding thud that echoed throughout the mansion. He entered, but I hesitated on the porch. Dry, crackling leaves chased him inside. The interior looked dark and damp. Broken cobwebs floated freely. The open doorway threw sunlight onto the unpolished, hardwood floors. In the foyer hung three gigantic chandeliers. Their illumination revealed peeling wallpaper and silhouettes previously covered by pictures. Fresh air replaced the stuffiness trapped within the rooms. Faded, moth-ridden sheets covered furniture now drowning in dust. I watched him cross the foyer and disappear to the left.
Oh, quit being such a frightened, clutching-at-your-clothes kinda girl. Remember, you need this job. Don’t let anything discourage your ambitions. It’s just a house! Cowboy up, Shiloh!
“Are you coming or what?” Trent called.
“Be right there.”
Blowing out a breath, I steeled myself and stepped into the entrance hall. I surveyed the enormous rooms. Somber portraits stared at me beneath layers of dust, penetrating my being with their blank eyes. Cold, hesitant light streamed through a cracked window, casting spooky shadows on the walls. Heavy drapes cloaked the rooms in darkness, as if sunlight dare not enter. The stony faces of the paintings seemed to open their mouths and silently shout, “ Turn back .” But I forced my legs to move. Shadows swirled around my feet, sucking me into the dark innards of the house.
The foyer was immersed in darkness. Something brushed my arm. I turned, but nothing was there. Wind whistled through the cracks in the house and it sounded like laughter to my freaked mind. A low chuckle broke my thought process. My body whipped around. Nothing. I moved forward, further into the
We walked through tall tangles of weeds. Shadows hung like curtains from the towering oaks. Countless leaves, scattered by the wind, heavily covered the porch and crunched under foot. We ducked beneath the branches of ancient oaks, stepped over twisted and mangled roots, and marched past a dilapidated black Plymouth Fury brooding in the unruly grasses. We marched up the steps. I glanced back at the car with a smile. “Hello Christine.”
Trent stood before the oak doors of beveled glass. He glanced over his shoulder. “A King fan, huh?”
“Who isn’t?”
I tripped, but Trent caught me. He turned to stare down into my face. “Ya know? I’m glad you could hang out today.”
His cocky smile made my heart knock against my ribs. “Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because I figured you’d appreciate a tour. Being a future architect and all.” He frowned. “Was I wrong?”
Uh, yes! You big dummy. I like you. Is this not a date? Because I wanted to spend the day with you, not your spooky old house. God, your lips are so kissable—
“No.” I kicked at the grass with my boot. “Is Mr. Evans here?”
Trent lounged against the splintered porch rail. “Nope. He’s finishing another project in Castro Valley today. He won’t be back until later tonight. Just you and me.”
My eyes took in the terrain, the untamed front garden. The grass stirred. Black bodies slipped between the shadows cast by the trees, hiding from the filtered sun.
“Do you mind helping with a few chores while I give you the grand tour? Don’t want you to get lost on your first day.”
“It depends.” I attempted to sound nonchalant. “Knowing me, I probably would get turned around. This place is wicked monstrous.”
“You have no idea.” Trent searched the pockets of his untucked shirt for the key. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms. He looked extra hot in his signature bad-boy, borderline Goth look, with his faded jeans and black boots. Spiky and tousled hair. Snug black shirt. Hard to believe this guy attended one of the most prestigious prep schools in northern California. Hard to believe he wanted to spend time with me.
Trent inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the door with a resounding thud that echoed throughout the mansion. He entered, but I hesitated on the porch. Dry, crackling leaves chased him inside. The interior looked dark and damp. Broken cobwebs floated freely. The open doorway threw sunlight onto the unpolished, hardwood floors. In the foyer hung three gigantic chandeliers. Their illumination revealed peeling wallpaper and silhouettes previously covered by pictures. Fresh air replaced the stuffiness trapped within the rooms. Faded, moth-ridden sheets covered furniture now drowning in dust. I watched him cross the foyer and disappear to the left.
Oh, quit being such a frightened, clutching-at-your-clothes kinda girl. Remember, you need this job. Don’t let anything discourage your ambitions. It’s just a house! Cowboy up, Shiloh!
“Are you coming or what?” Trent called.
“Be right there.”
Blowing out a breath, I steeled myself and stepped into the entrance hall. I surveyed the enormous rooms. Somber portraits stared at me beneath layers of dust, penetrating my being with their blank eyes. Cold, hesitant light streamed through a cracked window, casting spooky shadows on the walls. Heavy drapes cloaked the rooms in darkness, as if sunlight dare not enter. The stony faces of the paintings seemed to open their mouths and silently shout, “ Turn back .” But I forced my legs to move. Shadows swirled around my feet, sucking me into the dark innards of the house.
The foyer was immersed in darkness. Something brushed my arm. I turned, but nothing was there. Wind whistled through the cracks in the house and it sounded like laughter to my freaked mind. A low chuckle broke my thought process. My body whipped around. Nothing. I moved forward, further into the
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