Page 12 of Where the Little Birds Go (Little Bird Duet 1)

“Yeah. Why?”

Nobody invites me to their homes…

“I’d have to ask my parents,” I murmur, keeping my gaze locked on the weeds breaking through some of the cracks on the ground.

“Okay.” Another pause. “How much further? I’m not trying to get rid of you or anything, but chances are I’ll wander in the wrong direction if you don’t tell me where to go.”

For some reason, that amuses me. “I’m on Alden. Across the street from the cemetery.”

“Creepy.”

“Not really.”

“You ever see Stephen King movies?”

“Don’t you mean read Stephen King?”

“That too.”

“No to both.”

He stops walking. “You’ve never read or watched anything Stephen King related? IT? Carrie? Pet Semetary?”

When I keep shaking my head, he weaves his hands through his hair until it sticks up in random directions. Clearly he’s a King fan, which doesn’t surprise me. Gavin read a couple of his books once upon a time and watches almost all his movies.

“That needs to be remedied.”

I blink. “It does?”

“Are you scared of horror flicks?”

“I don’t know. No?”

“You’ve never seen a horror movie?”

I shrug.

“What about clowns?”

I’m completely lost. “What about them?”

He cusses under his breath. “We’ll start with Carrie. It’s a classic and not that messed up compared to his other work.”

“I didn’t agree to watch anything,” I remind him, hugging my arms close to my body to warm myself from the cooling wind.

He nods his head toward my street. “Let’s go before you freeze to death. You need to watch at least one Stephen King movie before you die.”

“Thanks for being a concerned citizen.”

His teeth flash with his grin this time.

When we get to my house, he examines the flowerbeds planted in tractor tires on the front lawn, and the decorative windmill between them. Dad made sure everyone who passed the house could see it since the town voted against real windmills being put anywhere in the town limits.

The house is bright red and two stories. There’s a tiny basement that offers little standing room, and an attic that nobody has ever been in before. Dad has been renovating the whole thing for years, starting a new project every summer on the outside, and little projects indoors during the wintertime.

“Cute place,” he compliments.

“It’s home.”

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