couldn’t hide his presence indefinitely.
Another step.
She wouldn’t be downstairs alone at all except she’d skipped dinner, and her rumbling stomach had forced her out of hiding. Rainn’s high-pitched whine echoed down the hall from his room, indicating that Mom had her hands full as they worked on her brother’s homework. Good. Willow had no desire to rehash their argument.
Another step.
Wind pushed against the house, shaking the windows in their frames like a death rattle in an old man’s throat. Willow gripped the railing tighter. The eves above answered with a long moan. Visions of the resident ghosts at Hogwarts made her glance up at the ceiling, but in the gloom the crossbeams held tight to their secrets. Maybe she wasn’t hungry after all.
A resounding gong boomed through the house. Willow swallowed a shriek and raced back up three stairs before she recognized it was the doorbell. She stopped to catch her breath and then jogged down into the foyer, yelling that she’d get it.
The side windows, with their original now-warped glass, were useless, so after a second’s hesitation, she cracked one of the double doors. Her hand on the lock, she peeked out, ready to slam it shut again if . . . if what? A robber stood at the door? Unlikely.
Straightening her spine, she swung the door wide. Ashton stood to the right of the entryway, a steady breeze lifting the hair off his forehead.
“What are you doing?” Willow gasped.
Ashton raised a darkly amused brow. “I thought I was ringing the doorbell.”
“Who is it, Willow?” Mom called.
Willow’s gaze swung back to Ashton, who offered a smile. “I came to talk to her . . . your mom.”
Footsteps sounded from the second floor.
“It’s just a kid selling tangelos for band, Mom! No need to come down.”
“Okay, tell them I already bought some from the neighbor.”
“All right!”
Grabbing Ashton’s hand, Willow tugged him through the door, shut it behind her, and led him to the farthest corner of the dim living room. A rush of electricity traveled up her arm and flared in her belly as she registered that his strong, warm fingers had closed over hers. She stopped in front of the empty hearth and yanked her hand away, spinning to face him.
Ashton’s closed lips quirked up on one side, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “I had no idea you’d be so happy to see me.”
“Lower your voice,” Willow hissed as she glanced at the ceiling and then back to him. But she had to readjust the angle of her gaze to account for his height. How had he gotten so . . . large? She’d grown maybe an inch or two, but it was like he’d doubled in size in four years.
“Like I said,” he continued in his deep rumble, “I came to talk to your mom.”
“Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Ashton’s jaw flexed and Willow bit her lip, wishing she could take back the tone of her words. What was it about him that brought out this thoughtless aggression? “I mean . . . um . . .”
Ashton pushed out a sigh, strode past her to the mini bar, and drew a glass of water from the faucet. Willow watched him, how comfortable he seemed, like he belonged in this rambling old mansion. Because he did. He’d been born into a life of wealth and privilege that she could only imagine. The Kellers had been like Gilt Hollow royalty—until that fateful night when one boy’s actions toppled them from their pedestal with a resounding crash.
After downing a second glass, he turned and leaned against the granite counter, crossing his arms and ankles in front of him. “I have a parole officer visit tomorrow, and it would be best if I’m not homeless. I’m trying to do the right thing by asking for your mom’s permission to stay here . . . just for a few days.”
“That’s going to be difficult since she kind of forbade me to see you.” Willow slumped into one of the leather chairs by the hearth.
“Why?” His brows shot up, and then he pinched the bridge
Another step.
She wouldn’t be downstairs alone at all except she’d skipped dinner, and her rumbling stomach had forced her out of hiding. Rainn’s high-pitched whine echoed down the hall from his room, indicating that Mom had her hands full as they worked on her brother’s homework. Good. Willow had no desire to rehash their argument.
Another step.
Wind pushed against the house, shaking the windows in their frames like a death rattle in an old man’s throat. Willow gripped the railing tighter. The eves above answered with a long moan. Visions of the resident ghosts at Hogwarts made her glance up at the ceiling, but in the gloom the crossbeams held tight to their secrets. Maybe she wasn’t hungry after all.
A resounding gong boomed through the house. Willow swallowed a shriek and raced back up three stairs before she recognized it was the doorbell. She stopped to catch her breath and then jogged down into the foyer, yelling that she’d get it.
The side windows, with their original now-warped glass, were useless, so after a second’s hesitation, she cracked one of the double doors. Her hand on the lock, she peeked out, ready to slam it shut again if . . . if what? A robber stood at the door? Unlikely.
Straightening her spine, she swung the door wide. Ashton stood to the right of the entryway, a steady breeze lifting the hair off his forehead.
“What are you doing?” Willow gasped.
Ashton raised a darkly amused brow. “I thought I was ringing the doorbell.”
“Who is it, Willow?” Mom called.
Willow’s gaze swung back to Ashton, who offered a smile. “I came to talk to her . . . your mom.”
Footsteps sounded from the second floor.
“It’s just a kid selling tangelos for band, Mom! No need to come down.”
“Okay, tell them I already bought some from the neighbor.”
“All right!”
Grabbing Ashton’s hand, Willow tugged him through the door, shut it behind her, and led him to the farthest corner of the dim living room. A rush of electricity traveled up her arm and flared in her belly as she registered that his strong, warm fingers had closed over hers. She stopped in front of the empty hearth and yanked her hand away, spinning to face him.
Ashton’s closed lips quirked up on one side, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “I had no idea you’d be so happy to see me.”
“Lower your voice,” Willow hissed as she glanced at the ceiling and then back to him. But she had to readjust the angle of her gaze to account for his height. How had he gotten so . . . large? She’d grown maybe an inch or two, but it was like he’d doubled in size in four years.
“Like I said,” he continued in his deep rumble, “I came to talk to your mom.”
“Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Ashton’s jaw flexed and Willow bit her lip, wishing she could take back the tone of her words. What was it about him that brought out this thoughtless aggression? “I mean . . . um . . .”
Ashton pushed out a sigh, strode past her to the mini bar, and drew a glass of water from the faucet. Willow watched him, how comfortable he seemed, like he belonged in this rambling old mansion. Because he did. He’d been born into a life of wealth and privilege that she could only imagine. The Kellers had been like Gilt Hollow royalty—until that fateful night when one boy’s actions toppled them from their pedestal with a resounding crash.
After downing a second glass, he turned and leaned against the granite counter, crossing his arms and ankles in front of him. “I have a parole officer visit tomorrow, and it would be best if I’m not homeless. I’m trying to do the right thing by asking for your mom’s permission to stay here . . . just for a few days.”
“That’s going to be difficult since she kind of forbade me to see you.” Willow slumped into one of the leather chairs by the hearth.
“Why?” His brows shot up, and then he pinched the bridge
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