Page 25 of One Week With You
I threw the pen across the table and glared as it rolled onto the floor.
* * *
The sky was inky blue and dotted with thousands of stars when I turned on the radio and plugged in the KitchenAid ready to make cookies. I danced around the room and by the time the counter was lined with little bowls of measured ingredients, my earlier frustration had faded. I wasn’t a cook by any means but baking always brightened my spirits.
“Now,” I said to the imaginary audience in the kitchen. “The first thing we want to do is combine the butter and sugar until it’s pale and fluffy.”
I switched on the KitchenAid, increasing the dial slowly. The contents had barely circled the bowl when everything went black.
“Shit!” The plunge into silence after the whirr of the mixer and music only added to the panic slicing through my chest. “Shit, shit, shit!”
If I’d been at home there would have been some light filtering in through the window from a street lamp or the city outside, but out here in the middle of nowhere? Pitch black. If someone appeared in front of my face, I’d have absolutely no idea.
My insides dropped. Now that was horrifying.
My phone was charging upstairs, but there had to be a torch somewhere. I patted around searching for a handle as if I hadn’t been using the kitchen all week, pulling out drawers and slowly feeling my way through the shapes of everything inside. Typically, I found the torch in the last place I looked, and my shoulders loosened at the beam of brightness in the otherwise black room.Thank god.
Hand on heart, I allowed myself a few seconds of calm before making my way to the garage, thankful I’d already discovered the mains fuse box was outside. Sometimes it paid to be nosy. The door creaked open. I karate chopped the cobwebs away as they fluttered against my skin, overwhelmed by the creepy spidery sensation.
“It’s just your imagination, Talia. Don’t even think about it,” I said, directing the torch beam at the fuse box on the wall. I flipped two switches and peeked out of the garage, sagging with relief at the warm glow through the windows.
Two steps back toward the cottage and—
What is that sound?I held still for a long moment, not hearing anything new, and rolled my eyes. Being alone in the dark always messed with my brain, no matter how old I was, and knowing there wasn’t another house for miles added to the unsettling, ghostly awareness.
Another few steps I was almost near the front door when—
A crunch.
I froze.
That definitely sounded like a footstep this time. It was quiet enough for anything to make a sound but all I could hear was the furious thud of my heart.
I opened my mouth to say hello but stopped myself quickly.Stupid.What would I have done if someone had said hello back? Shit myself, probably. No, it was better to not know at all. Even so, the need to get back inside nipped at my insides, adrenaline scorching my veins. I rounded the corner and raced to the front door when the last man I expected to see appeared from the other side of the cottage.
“Rafe? What the fuck!” I pressed one palm to the wall and another to my chest. “I think my soul just ascended.”
“Where’s your coat?” Rafe demanded, the intensity amplified by the fierceness of his glare. “It’s minus three degrees out here.”
“That’s the first thing you have to say? You scared me half to death.”
“I assumed you heard my car drive up.” He thumbed at the 4x4 parked behind my car. Well, shit. I hadn’t thought to look at the driveway. Barely a week and my usual city-living diligence had disappeared.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he added.
“It’s okay,” I said, feeling a little foolish. The cold nipped at my skin, sending a shiver rolling down my spine. I folded my hands into my sleeves and tucked them under my arms. “I overreacted. The imagination goes wild out here.”
His breathy chuckle drifted into the frigid air. “I get that. Let’s go inside.”
I followed him in a daze, stunned by how quickly things had changed and curious as to why. Ten minutes ago my plans for the evening had been cookies and trashy TV, and now Rafe was here, taking up all the space in the living room as if occupying my thoughts wasn’t enough.
“You don’t have the fire lit?” Rafe wondered while I grabbed the tartan blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around my body, drawing it up over my frozen nose and bouncing in a desperate bid to get warm.
“I don’t know how. I was worried about setting the place on fire, so I didn’t even attempt it.”
He seemed amused by that, even though I was deadly serious. “Come on, I’ll show you,” he said.
Still in his coat, Rafe crouched in front of the fireplace and began the process of layering logs, rolled up newspaper and twigs into the crate, explaining each step. He reached for the matches on the mantel, lit the newspaper and stood back as the flame climbed higher into the chimney.
