Page 18 of Always

“How about stopping by this afternoon?” she says. “You could stay for dinner if you’d like.”

Wow. These are really trusting people. I haven’t even told them my name. They probably still keep their doors unlocked at night.

“That’s kind of you,” I say. “I’d love to meet you. My name is Braden. Braden Black.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“I’m Skye’s boyfriend,” I continue.

Maggie gasps. “Boyfriend?”

Why the hell did I say that? We’re over. I’m the one who ended it.

But she’s still in my heart. Fuck, I flew to Kansas for no reason other than to try to get to know her better by seeing where she grew up, meeting the two people who raised her.

“Yes,” I say. “We’ve been dating.”

“She never mentioned you—” Another gasp. “Braden Black? From Boston? The blue-collar billionaire?”

Another throat clear. I must sound like a chain smoker. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Of course, we are dying to meet you, Mr. Black. Please come over at any time. I assume you have the address.”

“I do. I’ll see you soon.”

Once the call ends, I’m surprised that my heart is racing.

Nerves.

And I don’t get nervous.

Chapter Seven

It takes a half hour to get a taxi to meet me at the hotel and drive me to the Manning home. Once we’re on the rural roads, I can’t help but stare at the green. Kansas is so green compared to Boston. Cornfields line each side of the country road.

The taxi rattles along, the driver silently tracing the route through fields that stretch to the horizon. The sun blazes high.

The scent of earth—dry and wholesome—drifts through the open window, competing with the faint smell of worn leather from the taxi seats.

A weathered barn appears around a bend in the road, its red paint faded and peeling but nonetheless vibrant against the blue sky. The taxi slows as we approach an old iron gate.

The gate is swung wide, and beyond it, a gravel driveway leads up to what I presume is the Manning property. The taxi crunches over the uneven path until we reach the two-story house.

I pay the driver and watch him speed off down the driveway, leaving me in a cloud of dust and silence.

I linger for a moment, taking in the scene before me. A couple of barn cats scurry around, and only a short distance from the house, acres and acres of cornfields.

I look toward the house. The curtains twitch in a front window.

They know I’m here.

I draw in a breath, walk to the front door, and knock.

It opens instantly, and before me stands a lovely woman with a slim figure, light brown hair, with the only sign of age being thefew wrinkles around her pretty brown eyes.

Pretty brown eyes that her daughter shares.

“Hello, Mrs. Manning,” I say, forcing a smile.

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