When We Let Go, Delancey Stewart [early reader books .txt] 📗

>Could I tell him? I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can trust my instincts anymore. I’ve been so confused about everything.”

“About me, you mean.”

“About a lot of things. I’m so sorry. I’m kind of a mess.”

“No,” he said softly. “You’re not a mess. You’re smart. You’re doing exactly what I’d advise my sister to do. You don’t really know me and you have no reason to trust me.”

“Would your sister listen to you?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled. “But you have to do what makes sense to you. Maddie, I don’t want you to be scared. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Maybe we should wait until everything blows over.”

“Maybe,” I said, feeling my mind rotating again. “I’m sorry. I’m a hot mess. I’m waffling and confused …”

“Well how about this,” he said. “I’m cooking either way. I’ll make enough for two people and you are welcome to come at any time if you change your mind. And if it doesn’t work out tonight, then I would love to have you over another time. No pressure at all.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling awkward and socially incompetent.

“If I don’t see you, have a good night, Maddie.”

“You too.” I hung up and lay back on my bed. What the hell was wrong with me?

After replaying the phone call in my mind several times, I found myself standing under a spray of hot water, contemplating what I would wear.

Connor wasn’t a killer, and I had no real reason to believe he was a stalker or a sociopath, or anything other than what he had told me he was. That said, there was no way I was going to go up there without getting some actual answers from him. I was exhausted by the circles my mind had been forced to execute in the past few days.

I put on a bit more makeup than I usually wore and chose a bottle of wine that Jack had sent up before I’d made that fateful trip back to San Diego to “meet” Annalise. It was some Napa cult wine that Jack had gushed about. It seemed like maybe Connor would appreciate it, and I had said I’d bring the wine. I texted Miranda to remind her to check in, and then tucked my phone into my jeans and left.

Despite my lingering doubts, I was looking forward to spending time with Connor. I hadn’t really seen him since we’d carried Austin down the hill. It was hard to believe I’d turned that caring and gentle guy, who’d taken the fear from a little boy, into a monster in my mind so easily.

The bottom line was that while I really didn’t know much about Connor Charles, he was as intriguing as any man I’d ever met.

I knocked on the door and waited. It was silent inside, and for a moment I wondered if maybe Connor had gone off somewhere. But his Land Rover sat outside, and lights glowed against the meadow beyond the rock that cradled the house. After a bit of scrabbling noise from inside, the door pulled inward, and Connor stood grinning at me.

“You’re here.” There was surprise in his voice, and the polished and glimmering fire god had been replaced by a scruffier version. Connor wore flannel pajama bottoms, a fraying grey T-shirt, and a backwards cap covering his fiery locks. His face was unshaven, and the stubble was far less groomed than I was used to.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, realizing he’d definitely not planned on me coming. “I changed my mind. Again.”

He grinned. “That’s great! Come in.” He waved me in. “I’m so sorry I’m not really dressed. I didn’t think you’d actually show, but I’m really glad to see you.”

I followed him into the open space of his living room, the fire perpetually glowing in the huge fireplace. “Maybe this isn’t a good time?”

“It is, it’s a great time. I just got to writing again. I’ve been totally incapable for so long, and finally lately something got kicked loose. I haven’t felt it in so long I didn’t want to stop.”

I held forth the wine bottle and he took it, his eyes never leaving my face.

“You look great. Can I get you a drink and I’ll go clean up real quick?” He put the bottle on the counter and walked around to find a corkscrew in a drawer. As he prepared to open the bottle his eyes eyes scanned the label and widened. “You really want to open this?”

I shrugged. “It’s so much easier to drink that way.”

His eyes crinkled as he looked at me, amusement and surprise making his dimples appear beneath the scruff. “You have a point. I just …” He put the bottle down. “Maddie, you know this is like a five hundred dollar bottle of wine, right? I mean … at least that.”

I wasn’t impressed. Fancy wine was Jack’s thing. “Do you think it’s drinkable?”

“I think it should be way better than drinkable. But now I’m going to make you wait to taste it. We’ll have it with dinner if that’s okay with you.”

I nodded.

“I’ll just get it open so it can breathe a bit.” He opened it and then put it aside. “I can’t believe you brought that. I’m going to have to up my dinner game—I’m not sure my cooking can stand up to such a fancy wine.”

“If your dinner didn’t come out of a can, you’re already winning.” I smiled at him. He really did look excited. I guessed that now wouldn’t be the best time to ask the questions that were swirling around in my head, or mention any of the visits I’d had with the police. There’d be time for that, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him I’d basically turned him in the day before.

“Here you go.” He handed me a glass of wine poured from another bottle, which he’d pulled from a cabinet on the far side of the kitchen. “It’s no Harlan Estate.” He nodded toward the bottle I’d brought. “But it should hold you over while I go shower.”

“Thanks.”

“Make yourself at home,” he called as he jogged up the stairs that climbed along one wall of the living room. He disappeared through what I assumed was the bedroom door, and I was alone.

I turned to take in the view over the meadow, appreciating the way the light filtered around the tall grass and flowers as evening moved in. And then I looked around the room. One wall held old movie posters framed over a desk with a still-glowing laptop and some post-it notes stuck on the tabletop.

It made me weirdly happy to know that Connor was working again. There was a part of me that felt a little bit protective of the huge fiery man—even as little as I knew of him. It might have been guilt—at least part of it. My phone call to the police was weighing heavily on my mind.

I wandered around the room, picking up objects on shelves and replacing them, looking for something I couldn’t identify. Would something in this room reveal Connor’s secrets? Would a trinket on a shelf tell me if he was dangerous, if I should be worried? Probably not. But it didn’t stop me from snooping as I waited for him to reappear.

Besides the gothic-inspired doo-dads, there was nothing here screaming to me that this guy was a murderer, a sexual predator, or anything besides someone who collected unusual decorations. There were some glassed ships and a lot of books. The glass skulls and ornate knives on display weren’t threatening, just exotic. And as far as I could tell, there was no one being held captive here. If there was, she was sure quiet. Besides, the police had searched the house.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see that Miranda was being diligent in her check-in promise.

- You okay? Text back or I send in the cavalry.

- Don’t send them yet. All is fine. Give me an hour or so, okay?

- Will do. PS. Have fun. I’ll text in a bit.

I settled into the couch and waited for him to return.