Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Nash sighs. “Could be hours, could be minutes.”
“You’re leaving then?” I say, as casual as can be. Then I take off the huge diamond ring. It takes some work to move it past my knuckle. Like my hand doesn’t like the idea of letting it go. “Guess I should give you this back now.”
He gives the ring a frown.
“We’ll leave you to it.” Charlie ushers Grandma toward her house. “Goodnight.”
Grandma drags her feet. “But June and Nash—”
“Are perfectly capable of sorting out their lives without you. It’s time for bed.”
“It’s time for bed?” repeats Grandma.
“Yes.”
“Oh. So it is. Goodnight!”
“Night.” Then with a whisper, I ask, “Does that man have his hand on my grandmother’s ass?”
Nash nods. “Yeah. He sure does.”
“I, um, okay…”
And Grandma actually giggles as they disappear inside. This is wild. But it’s great seeing her happy. And horny, I guess.
“Keep the ring,” says Nash, like it’s nothing. “You haven’t seen the place yet, have you?”
“I can’t keep the ring. It’s worth a small fortune.”
He shrugs.
“And what about the Volvo?”
“Farmer’s not going to ask for it back,” he says. “Right now, he’s figuring out how to work this new situation to his benefit.”
“Nash…”
But he’s already walking away from me toward the gate in the tall fence. He holds it open for me and in we go. Small solar lights are set amongst the lush garden. Such a beautiful property. It’s like its own private little world. There’s a main three-story wooden house with a separate cottage and garage. They’re all painted navy with white trim. And the bottom level of the main house is set into the side of the hill leading down to the river.
“Going to turn the two bedrooms and living space down there into a recording studio and place to jam and store instruments,” he says, taking the front steps to the second level and the main entry. A wide deck surrounds the house, with views both front and back. He unlocks the front door with a key from his pocket. “It’s over a hundred years old. The windows and wood paneling are all original. Skylights and the new kitchen with stone counters were put in more recently.”
The entry is a generous-sized room painted white with lots of potted plants and walls full of windows for natural light. It wouldn’t surprise me if it used to be an enclosed porch. Comfortable armchairs and a bookcase stand on one side, while a hall table with a bowl for keys and a cupboard for shoes and coats is opposite. And on the deck out front is a sunken hot tub with views of the river. This house is sick.
“Is this the furniture that was here?” I ask.
He nods. “The previous owners had good taste. A lot of it’s antique. Had a cleaning crew come through and new mattresses, linens, plates and silverware delivered. Otherwise, it’s staying as is for now.”
“You’re really thinking of hanging around?”
“Come check out the old gas stove,” he says, walking into the living room.
Invitingly worn-looking large tan leather couches are decorated with cream cushions and throws. The place couldn’t be cozier. There’s an office with more bookshelves, and a dining room with a beautiful old battered wooden table and mismatched seats for eight people. And a central staircase to access the first and third levels. It’s cool as fuck. And the kitchen seems shiny new, with its quartz counters and top-of-the-line fridge and stove, etcetera. You have to appreciate the large pantry and plentiful wine storage.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“It’s amazing. But what about the media finding out where you are?”
“Come see the view from the top.”
“Nash…”
He has, however, already disappeared up the stairs to the third level. And so I follow. There’s another large living space up here with a huge flat-screen and bedrooms off either end. One room sits in darkness while the other has a light turned on low.
“Did I mention there’s a clawfoot tub?” he asks from somewhere inside.
“No. You didn’t.”
“Nice big bed in here too.”
I wander into the bedroom. He’s leaning against the wall by some windows with his arms crossed. There is indeed a very large four-poster bed made up with white linens. Some comfy-looking armchairs sitting in front of a smaller gas stove fireplace with a marble coffee table. And a small hallway leading doubtless to the bathroom and a walk-in closet. Because a house like this has to have a walk-in closet. The blue and green stained-glass windows open to the night air are the cherry on top of the masterpiece.
The house is amazing. And as curious as I am about it, I am a hundred times more so curious about the man. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not planning on going anywhere?”
“Picked up on that, did you?”
“You came here to escape the attention,” I say. “And now thanks to Lady Caroline, the attention is going to follow you.”