Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Sidney, come and see,” repeats Hana.
I smile and shake my head. It’s been almost a decade since I’ve taken an interest in anyone of any sex. The first time I fell in love was such a disaster I can’t be trusted to date. Though I guess just watching wouldn’t get me into trouble.
“Why don’t you go and take a look?” asks Muriel, who is a secret romantic at heart. But she buries it well. “You never know…he might be the one.”
“I’m not sure I believe in the one. Plus I have a lot going on right now. I don’t want to get distracted.”
Muriel is not convinced. “You’ve been using that excuse since I met you. It’s time you got a life.”
“Why don’t you go look?” I toss back.
“Because I’m old enough to know better. Now go and ogle the man and make your friend happy.”
And I know when I am outnumbered. I join Hana in the living room at the front of the house. “What’s going on?”
“He took something inside. At least we’re not the only ones spying.” Hana points across the street. “The old couple have been in their garden for ages. And the students in the share house next to them are hanging out on their patio.”
Mrs. Lawson, one of my neighbors, is also out walking her dog. The frown on her face when she sees me standing there is mighty. I behave like a grown-ass adult, however, and resist the temptation to hide behind the curtain. It’s not easy being the neighborhood pariah.
“What’s her problem?” asks Hana.
“She thinks me living here brings down the property values or something.”
“We should toilet paper her tree.”
“That could be fun.”
A man walks out of the house next door. He is indeed tall, with tattoos and longish dark hair. Hana wasn’t lying about any of that. And when he grabs a box out of the back of the moving van, the muscles in his arms stretch and strain.
“He is fire,” I admit.
Hana happy sighs. “I like it when he lifts heavy things.”
“Yeah.”
“He doesn’t need that place,” say Hana. “He can live in my head rent free.”
I smile. “That’s very generous of you.”
“I know, right?”
A young family was renting the small brick bungalow. But they left after someone threw a rock through their window. Doubtless it was meant for me. Maybe Mrs. Lawson was right about those house prices after all.
“I have a life,” I say for absolutely no reason.
“Do you though?” Hana wrinkles her nose. “Really?”
“Yes.” I laugh. “I do things and see people. Like you two and Mateo and Heather. My friend Salim just stopped by the other day.”
“Mateo’s your self-defense teacher and Heather’s your therapist. You pay them; they don’t count. And who’s Salim?”
“He’s lovely,” I say. “He, ah, he brings me things.”
“Are you seriously trying to claim the mailperson as your friend?”
I frown. “Maybe.”
Hana shakes her head sadly at me.
My life isn’t small and pathetic. It just looks that way from certain angles. But what’s important is the work we’re doing to bring the missing women home. Not the diminutive size of my social life and/or lack of skills regarding same. Most of my friends from high school and college ghosted me. Same goes for the cousin I was close to growing up. I don’t blame them, though I did feel abandoned. And me shutting down from the horror of it all wasn’t helpful.
There’s nothing quite like the social awkwardness of having accidentally dated a serial killer. What my ex did was abhorrent, and he deserves to rot in jail and burn in hell. But my only crimes were being idiotic and in love. Two things that still give me plenty of guilt.
The new neighbor takes another box inside before wandering back out into the sun. And then walking in this general direction. Hana and I jump back from the window in a panic.
“This is it,” says Hana. “You’re going to meet him.”
“Shit.”
“What’s happening?” Muriel shouts from the study.
Hana yells back, “He’s coming over.”
“He is? Now this I have to see!”
Thank fuck for thick walls and double glazing. Because my only friends have well and truly forgotten their inside voices. Which is when he knocks on the door.
“I’m not dressed for gentleman callers,” I say, giving Hana a nudge. “You like him. You answer it.”
“No way. It’s your house.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Not happening,” declares Hana. “I’m doing this for your own good.”
It’s tempting to wait until he gives up and goes away, which is what I usually do. I don’t hate people. But the truth is most of them tend to have a negative opinion of me. The ones in this town, at least. Not to mention my dark blonde hair is overdue for a wash and tied back into a short ponytail. And my white tank top and old baggy blue jeans are clean apart from a small coffee stain from earlier.