Page 125 of A Dark Fall

When I get home, I realize I’ve bought three different kinds of pasta—thankfully, one of which is lasagna sheets—and I’ve picked up the wrong kind of cat food for Fred. He will not be happy with me. Apparently, shopping isn’t something people in love do.

I’m putting away the groceries when the doorbell goes, and since I’m not expecting anyone, and since I have Jake on the brain, I’m worried I’ve forgotten about a lunch with Mum and Dad or something that’s slipped my mind. Well, I have some food I can feed them now at least.

As I approach the door, I see a tall figure behind the glass, and my heart swells. He’s back early. He doesn’t need to knock—I need to tell him that. Maybe I should just give him a key.

My heart deflates when I open it to find Sherlock standing there. He gives me a tight smile and removes his sunglasses.

“Hey, Alex. How are you?” His smile seems to tighten even further.

I smile back politely, confused as to what on earth he’s doing at my house.

“Um, I’m fine, Mark. You?”

“Yeah, not bad.” He nods, but his mouth stays tight, his eyes serious. “Do you have some time to talk? You don’t have company, do you?” He glances behind me into the house.

“No, I’m alone. Um, yes, I have some time.”

“Ah, great. Do you mind if I come in?”

A strange feeling of foreboding seems to bubble up from nowhere, dark and unwelcome.“Sure, come in,” I tell him, and then I’m standing back to let him inside.

I gesture for Mark to go through to the kitchen.

“This place looks amazing now. You and Ben did all this yourselves?” he asks, looking around—glancing up the stairs, peering into the living room as he passes.

I try to remember when Mark was here last, realizing it was the housewarming party we had back when the house was still a time capsule of the 1930s.

“God, no, not all of it. For the big stuff, we hired the professionals.” Ben, an orthopedic surgeon, was utterly useless at any sort of DIY. No dexterity whatsoever. Something that used to amuse me. “The rest was a labor of love.”

“Looks great,” he says, gazing around the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee? Something cold?” I ask, heading straight for the kettle.

“No, thanks, Alex. I’m good. You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

I give him a weak smile. “Rob and Dan-related, I presume?”

“Ah, no. Rob and Dan have nothing to do with this. They don’t know I’m here.” He purses his lips before taking a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about Jake.”

My stomach does a little flip-flop. “What do you mean? Oh, wait—is this to apologize for how you were at dinner?”

Mark huffs out a small laugh, more like a scoff. “No. No, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Okay ... then what do you want to talk about?” Something begins to gnaw deep inside me—something small and quiet.

Mark stares at me for a long time before running a hand through his dark hair. When he speaks again, his voice is serious and concerned. “How much do you know about this guy, Alex? How well do you know him?”

I flinch. I’m not sure why the question is such a shock; it’s one I’ve asked myself a lot since I met Jake. I’m used to asking it. Mark has no right to ask it though. I feel defensive.

“What on earth does that mean?” I ask sharply.

Mark doesn’t offer any clarification.

“I know him as well as anyone knows someone they’ve been seeing for a few weeks.” I cross my arms over my body, hating myself for the spin I’ve put on that. He’s so much more than a guy I’ve known for a few weeks. I’m in love with him. He’s in love with me. Why am I spinning this?

Mark nods and purses his lips. “So then, you don’t know.”

The gnawing sensation that a moment ago was deep and small begins to get larger, climb a little higher. “Know what?” I frown.

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