Page 70 of David's Proposal

The visitor knocks on the door, and it’s so quiet.

The kind of knock on the door that would happen if someone were tired, at the end of the road, with a chest full of emotions.

The house is dark and perfectly silent, yet the person outside raps on the door again.

They know I’m home.

Or they expect me to be home.

I slide to the kitchen window and peer outside. There are no cars in front of my place. No signs of anyone.

But someone is at my door, and the thought makes my heart pitter patter.

It might be him, although it could be anyone.

But we’ve done this before.It wouldn’t be the first time.

This is his style.

What if it’s not him?

And why would he be here?

I left him at the hotel.

We made plans for tomorrow. Sort of. We couldn’t make other plans.

We both knew that.

I slide to the door and look through the peephole, quickly learning that I need the light outside fixed, and a camera wouldn’t hurt either.

As if he knows that I’m here…

As if he can hear the whisper of my breath…

He speaks.

“Elizabeth,” he says in that unmistakably unique raspy tone of his, and my whole world, as I have meticulously constructed it for the past hour or so, crumbles as if wiped away by the wind.

It’s scary how few things matter when I hear his voice.

And he is one of those things.

“David?” I ask without opening the door, partly to prolong this moment and also buy some time while being separated from him by this door.

Has something bad brought him to my door?

“Yes,” he says in the same mellow voice.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, my heart jittery.

“Everything’s all right,” he drawls. “I just want to talk to you.”

How can it be all right?

I have a feeling things are not all right. Not at all.

With a shaky hand, I open the door.

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