That small, scared voice of hers makes me freeze in place.
“If you want… You know if you don’t have anything else going…. You could um…”
Even her nervous babbling draws me farther into obsession.
“You could get yourself a drink too.”
Should I do this? Can I control my urges and get to know her like a normal man? I turn to look at her. “Are you inviting me to stay?” Her wide eyes are enough of an answer. A woman like her shouldn’t want to be with a man like me.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll grab a drink then.” And search your house.
“And a bowl for the popcorn.”
“Salty it is.” She’s given me even more time.
Those are the actions of someone completely naïve or prepared… I’m about to find out which.
Silently, I take the stairs two at a time.
The first floor down has one room on either side of the staircase. It’s consistently decorated. It takes less than five seconds for me to open each door.
Guest bedrooms aren’t my priority.
Down one more flight. This landing also has two doors.
The first door I open leads to a craft room. It’s all too easy to picture Dahlia in here with the sun shining down on her… Now isn’t the time to daydream.
The next room is filled with several sewing machines, a dress form, and a large empty table.
Everything fits so far.
But none of these rooms hold the information I need.
Down I go again.
Two doors to choose from. One of these needs to be an office…
My heart beats faster than it ever has.
Books. They’re everywhere. This floor wasn’t split evenly. The other room has to be very small to fit this many books in one space. Unlike the immaculate order everywhere else, this room is complete and utter chaos. Like a reader obsessed.
Dahlia has a library. My eyes move to the spines of their own accord.
There isn’t time for me to go through them even though I want to spend forever in here getting to know her.
What does she read? Or is she just a collector?
Some of the spines look worn. Well-loved books…
Stop. You don’t have time for this. You certainly don’t want her to come looking for you and find you mooning over her books.
The last tiny room is an office.
Jackpot.
A pristine one. There isn’t a single piece of paper anywhere.