Page 19 of ILY
Leaving the barn, I pull my mini Maglite and keep the glow as close to the ground as I can. I walk the perimeter of the barn, then venture out toward the apple orchard. There really are a lot of trees and a lot of apples for a man who’s allergic to them.
When I walk back, I take one of the several walking paths between massive garden beds. All of which look pretty torn up. And then I see the camera. It looks like one of those wildlife webcams. There are actually four of them, and they’re all pointed at the vegetables.
Cameras are definitely a red flag, but unless there’s a secret entrance to an underground dungeon somewhere in the dirt, it’s likely Leaf really is just watching his produce. The garden beds do look a bit rough. There are half-eaten zucchini, squash, and cucumber all over.
And the tomatoes look like they were hit with a weed whacker. Not that I know much about gardening. I’ve spent most of my life in the city, living in a very sterile apartment, but still. Something’s had a go at all of this.
I creep around a bit longer, searching the dirt, scuffing it with my foot in hopes that I’ll find some kind of trapdoor, but it looks exactly like what it says on the tin: a run-down, nonfunctional farm.
So maybe, if there is some underground bunker, the entrance isn’t out here. The only other option would be the house. I turn my gaze back toward the front door, and I don’t see any lights on. It’s very clear Leaf has gone to bed, which means if I’m careful and quiet—something I’ve been struggling with since my hearing loss has gotten worse—I might be able to have another look around.
Leaf seemed pretty out of it anyway, so all I can do is hope he’s a heavy sleeper.
I make my way back across the yard, then tiptoe up the porch steps. The door isn’t locked, so I let myself in and once again keep the light close to the ground as I search for something—a hidden door behind a bookshelf, a cellar entrance in the floor covered by furniture.
Just…anything that will give me some reason to either believe that I have the right guy or prove that I have the wrong one.
There’s nothing. My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach as I scan the walls. There are old photo frames that look like they’ve been there for decades. Sepia photographs of family, some who look like Leaf and some who don’t. There are even a couple of childhood photos that resemble him—a wild-haired kid with two missing front teeth.
The rest of the house isn’t like him either, except that it’s chaotic. But there are half-done crochet projects lying on the back of chairs, which seem like they haven’t been touched in years. There are doilies on every table, a bowl of hard candy that looks like it expired in the eighties, and three curio cabinets along the far wall with shelves covered in Coca-Cola Bear Christmas ornaments, which I very much doubt Leaf is the one collecting.
What even is this place?
I really need to do some more research into Leaf, the right spelling this time.
I need to figure out why he’s living here, why he owns an apple orchard he’s allergic to, and why he’s so damn cute. Okay, that last one is just for me and my apparent bi-panic because there’s no sense in denying the fact that I want him. He made my dick hard, and it wasn’t from adrenaline.
I stare down at my phone and then pull it up, snapping pictures of anything of interest before moving up the stairs.
I really shouldn’t. I should stay away, but I can’t help it. The stairs creak under my weight, and I wince when my hearing aids pick up the noise, but I don’t stop myself. I just keep creeping.
The hallways are cluttered, the rooms as well. At the far end of the hall is a closed door, and I tell myself not to go in there.
He’s probably sleeping, probably needs a good rest. After the day he had, he probably needs to sleep for a week. But still, my feet move me closer and closer, the floorboards making my hearing aids hum slightly.
Fuck. I should just turn them off. I don’t need them. He signs. We could just not use our voices, but for some reason, I don’t. I’m not sure why, but the thought of only using my hands to communicate with him makes me feel vulnerable.
My fingers land on the door handle, and I turn it slightly, hoping it doesn’t make too much noise.
Holding my breath, I push it open.
The door creaks loudly, and I bite my bottom lip hard. My feet move into the room, and as I realize there’s no one in the bed…
CRACK!
I feel something hit me in the back of the head. Hard. Pain shoots up the back of my neck, my body wobbling slightly.
I hear a muttered curse, an apology, and then I fall to the ground.
CHAPTER FIVE
THORNE
“Oh my god,Echo. I’m so sorry! I thought you were Michael trying to come in and murder me.”
I groan, sitting up, my head throbbing slightly. Fuck, he got me good. I look at what he’s holding and sigh.
“Is that a croquet mallet?” Shit, at least it wasn’t the baseball bat with the nails on it. I realize just then he took it with him when he left the house, but when he fell in the dirt, he no longer had it.
