Page 57 of Unspoken Truths

Opening the garage door with another button once I make sure the gates are closed, I park inside and close it behind us before pushing my door ajar.

“Do you always have a certain way you approach the house?” Rachelle asks. “I noticed the way you made sure the gates were closed before you kept going up the drive.”

“We’re mostly alone today, so I want to make sure no one follows us inside,” I explain as she shuts her car door once she gets out with her bags. Pushing my door the rest of the way open, I pick up my bag as I stand. “I’m responsible for both our safety, and my father has drilled into my head that I need to pay attention to my surroundings.”

“It’s a good system to have,” she admits as I lock the car and we walk together to enter the house. The door has a keypad to enter from the garage, but it also has ocular recognition, which is what I use instead before pushing open the door to enter.

“Welcome to my home,” I say with a proud grin as I walk with her to the kitchen.

The house has a lot of glass to make it feel open, but it’s all storm and bullet proof. Dad didn’t want me to feel as if I’m living in a prison, regardless of how dangerous his job is. He’s prepared for the worst, while hoping it never happens.

I appreciate the effort. I’m rarely scared of being in the house alone, and I know when to hide or fight. I meant every word of the advice I gave Rachelle this morning, using it for myself as well.

“You never answered my question,” I remind her. “What would you like to eat?”

“A cheese board may be the least effort, and also sounds delicious,” she says.

Nodding, I open the fridge and begin pulling out food. Rachelle drops her bags next to mine by the large island, looking around the kitchen.

“This house is so pretty,” she says. “There’s wallpaper in here too. It’s not something I’d think a man would have in their home.”

Grinning, I shrug as I put the food on the island so I can grab a knife and cutting board.

“Dad gave the house an overhaul a year ago,” I explain. “He told me he wanted to see me when he walked through the door. My mom died when I was really young, and I think he wanted to finally move forward. So I got to work, while he paid for it all. I made sure he was okay with the things I chose, but I really love how it all turned out.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do,” she breathes. “Everything works so well from room to room, at least from what I’ve seen.”

“I even did the bedrooms, deciding to do them by color,” I tell her. “Freshman year was a big transition, and having control of a project like this helped a lot. It took most of the year, but it’s completely ours. I don’t remember my mother at all, it didn’t feel right to be living in a shrine to her.”

“I can see how that would be difficult,” she admits. “My dad died when I was eleven, so I remember what he was like. To be honest though, I don’t know if they were really right for each other.”

“How so?” I ask, cutting fruit, cheese, and meats. Pulling out a platter, I begin to place it all on it.

“I remember the way they argued,” she says. “Dad made really good money, but somehow, it was never enough. My mom was a stay at home parent, yet she didn’t really spend money frivolously. I don’t know what happened, but the second Mom told me my dad died in a drunk driving accident, all I could think about was how we were going to lose the house. That’s a really shitty thing to think about, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” I say. “Stability is important, and you knew you were going to be losing that.”

“He worked a lot,” she sighs. “Dad would try to make the effort to have family time, but someone would always end up calling him to interrupt. It felt as if he was always one foot out the door.”

“Then, the only difference between his life and death was the money he brought into the home,” I murmur. “It’s no wonder it’s the first thing you thought of.”

She’s quiet for a moment, watching as I put together the board.

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to do this,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“I watch a lot of cooking shows,” I tell her with a light laugh. “I am mildly addicted to cheese and pretty things, so charcuterie boards make sense to me. We can eat this anywhere. Did you bring a book by chance?”

Glancing at her, I notice the pretty blush on her cheeks and raise my brow.

“I did,” she murmurs. “I brought my kindle, and recently started a spicy, why choose novel. I did a little research, which led me down a rabbit hole of books.”

“What makes it spicy?” I ask her, putting away the food I won’t be using.

“There’s a lot of sex, like starting from the first page,” she says.

“Well that sounds like fun,” I murmur.

Grabbing bottles of water, I hand them to her before picking up the platter and hooking my backpack over my shoulder. “I can’t wait to have you read to me.”

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