Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 40942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
She shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s what I’m here for.”
Stafford’s phone rang. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this. I’ll let you two get acquainted.” He strode out of the room.
Shoot. She couldn’t help but feel a bit abandoned. Which was silly. It wasn’t like Stafford was a comforting person.
“Why are you wearing gloves?” Jack asked bluntly.
“Oh, uh, I feel the cold.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She did feel the cold.
“Warm day out there, girl. You poorly?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He grunted. “You know how to make a cup of tea?”
“Uh, sure.”
“My Elsie was from England. She made a good cup of tea. Milk, no sugar.”
Blakely guessed Elsie was his wife.
“I’ll try my best.” She understood this was a test of sorts and she was determined to pass.
Taking off her sweater, she placed it on the kitchen counter before searching for everything she needed. Jack was busy working on a crossword puzzle.
As the water boiled, she found some teacups. They were pretty with pink and yellow flowers painted on them.
Her hands protested as she picked up the kettle, but she managed to pour the water into the cup.
She poured some milk in before grasping hold of the cup with two hands. The heat transferred straight through her thin gloves, making her hands sting and throb.
With a cry, the cup slipped through her hands to shatter on the floor.
“What did you just do?” Jack yelled. “Get out! Get out right now!”
4
Stafford walked up to the front door of the house.
“Get out! Get out right now!”
Shit. That was Grandpa Jack.
The front door swung open and Blakely raced out, tears streaming down her face.
Fuck.
He rushed past her and into the house. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
His grandfather was staring down at something on the floor.
What was he looking at?
Stepping closer, realization filled Stafford. “She broke one of Grandma’s cups?”
“I didn’t notice what cup she was using,” Grandpa Jack said slowly. “Should have been paying attention, but I didn’t want her here. It was a test . . . getting her to make a cup of tea. Why the hell did she drop it?”
Stafford frowned. It did seem strange. “Nerves?”
“Maybe. And what’s with wearing gloves inside on a warm day? All nonsense. She won’t do. Too jumpy. Can’t have her breaking anything. Only got four of these left, you know.”
Stafford knew. They were the last of a tea set his grandma had brought with her from England. And like this house and everything in it, they were things that his grandpa treasured. It was like he was trying to keep her memory alive by keeping everything the same as when she died.
Any time he suggested changing or updating something, his grandfather would get upset and he’d back off. The only room he’d been allowed to touch was his bedroom.
Stafford sighed. Shit. What was he going to do now? Although he admitted that he hadn’t been holding onto much hope that she’d last.
After cleaning up the mess, he stood to make his grandfather a cup of tea. That’s when he saw her sweater.
Shit.
Blakely sat on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She didn’t know why she felt so cold, but shivers kept working their way through her body.
Stupid.
So stupid.
Mr. Whiskers and Mrs. Flopsy sat on either side of her, trying to comfort her. But it wasn’t working.
Why hadn’t she been more careful? She knew better.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
What was it about her that no one wanted to take a chance on her?
Maybe because you break stuff? Because you’re useless?
Stupid.
Blakely stared down at her hands. If she hadn’t been doing that magic trick . . . if she hadn’t been cooking and gotten distracted . . . if she’d been more damn careful.
She’d taken off her gloves but left the bandages on. She should probably apply some more cream, but the pain felt like a well-deserved punishment.
A knock on the door startled her and she glanced over, wiping the tears off her face. Standing, she grabbed a tissue as another knock came.
Someone was impatient.
The door rattled so much that she knew that it would only take a good shove to break it open. That thought often kept her awake at night.
It needed a deadbolt, but she couldn’t afford one and Mr. Brandt wouldn’t put one on.
“I know you’re in there, Miss Ellis.”
Shit. Mr. Brandt.
Did she have the worst luck today or what?
“I saw you come home. Open up or I’ll be forced to use my key.”
Great. She hated that he had his own key to her apartment. But he was her landlord, she guessed.
Opening the door, she stared up at him. He was tall and thin. His hair was a deep black that was at odds with his wrinkled face.
“Mr. Brandt, how can I help? The rent isn’t due until the end of the week.”