Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Laney

Twenty minutes later, I let myself into Adam's house. His absolutely stunning house.

Goldie meets me in the entryway, and I follow her into a living room with whitewashed wood floors and simple furniture with clean lines in muted colors.

Just beyond the living room, I can see a spacious sunroom, windows filling every wall, where two desks sit facing each other, making me think this is where Adam runs the rescue. And probably handles the investments he mentioned, because hello , the man obviously has money.

The kitchen is on the right, opposite a wide staircase with open risers and a modern iron railing. At the back of the living room, a half wall and a few steps down separate what can only be a music room. There's a piano and several guitars hanging on the wall and a record player sitting next to a bookshelf that's packed full of vinyls. I think about Adam telling me he's more of a listener when it comes to music. I didn't believe him then, and I definitely don't believe him now.

It's all I can do not to cross the space and sort through the records, but that really would feel like snooping, so I head back through the living room and into the kitchen. The house isn't fancy, but it is nice. This is not a space that was cobbled together on a budget using throw pillows from HomeGoods and furniture from Ikea. I know that look because it describes my house perfectly.

This is more elevated than that. Intentional and cohesive in a way that makes the whole house feel inviting. I make my way through the kitchen and find the barn keys exactly where Adam said they would be. Goldie seems ready to go with me, like she knows the routine, so I pull up Adam's instructions, making sure I've got the entire message loaded, then the two of us head out to the barn.

The dogs greet us with a chorus of happy barks, and I talk to them by name as I make my way down the aisle with the rolling food cart Adam used the last time I was here. I give lots of pets and words of love as they each get their dinner, spending an extra-long minute with my sweet Ringo. It takes a lot longer to finish working by myself, but eventually, everyone is fed, and we're ready to go outside. I'm a little nervous about letting them all out at once, but the dogs seem familiar with the routine, and no one gives me any trouble.

I spend the next forty-five minutes lounging in the grass while the late evening sun sinks behind the mountains and eight cocker spaniel puppies crawl all over me. Their mother is stretched out a few yards away, and she occasionally looks over at me, her eyes letting me know just how grateful she is for the break. Ringo spends the entire time curled up on my lap, only shifting when he wants to lean up and lick my nose.

Soon, the field is blanketed in shadows, and a slight chill fills the air. Most of the dogs have wandered back to the barn door like they know as well as I do it's time to go back inside.

Once everyone is secure in their kennels, I check on Taylor, who only went outside long enough to pee before finding her own way back to her bed. She's resting peacefully, and I feel the wiggle of her puppies when I rest a hand on her belly.

"It won't be long now, mama," I say, giving her head a good scratch.

She licks my hand, her tail thumping against her bed.

As I lock up the barn and walk with Goldie back to the house, the first flickers of fireflies appear in the grass beside me. It's full dark now, and I wonder if I've stayed long enough for Adam and Sarah to make it home. And not just because of Percy's kiss comment. I would also love the chance to meet Adam's sister.

Once I'm back inside the house, my phone pings with half a dozen messages. Unsurprising, since Sarah mentioned there wasn't reception out in the barn. There's one message from Dad and five from my little sister, Sophie.

Sophie

Hey. I need boy advice. You got a sec?

LANEY. It's a random Tuesday night. I know you're home rewatching Bridgerton. CALL ME.

What gives? Your phone is going straight to voicemail.

ARE YOU DEAD? Blink once if you need me to rescue you.

Mom says you're probably just busy or whatever, so I'm just going to tell you what's up.

I scroll through the next three messages without reading them because they are long , and unless I'm going to crash on Adam's couch and hang out for a while, this is not the time or the place to get into a text conversation with Sophie. My little sister can talk, especially when she's talking about boys.

When I get to the end of what can only be described as Sophie's monologuing, her last few messages make me laugh.

Sophie

For real if something is actually wrong with you, please don't think I'm shallow for texting about boy problems when you could be bleeding out or something.

Okay, should I be worried you really are bleeding out somewhere? Do I need to call Dad?

I'm calling Dad.

He says I'm overreacting and you're an adult with a life. So just, whatever. Call me when you're back in the land of the living. Unless you really are dead, and then I'm totally telling Dad I told you so.

I send my sister a quick text, assuring her I'm alive and well and promising to call her later, then I stop in Adam's kitchen to wash my hands. The hand soap is my favorite scent from Williams Sonoma, and I wonder if it's something Adam orders for himself or if Sarah helps with stuff like that. Which leads me to wonder if Sarah lives here or has her own place.

I dry my hands on a dish towel sitting on the counter, then glance around the kitchen, looking for anything that might indicate one way or the other.

The kitchen is clean, but it's not so clean that it looks like someone doesn't live here. There's a bowl of fruit on the counter and another bowl by the stove full of onions and shallots and bulbs of fresh garlic. A drawer is slightly ajar, and I pull it out to see the most beautiful spice drawer I've ever seen, full of matching glass jars with hand-written labels. The handwriting is masculine, a little slanted, making me think it's definitely Adam's, not Sarah's.

There's a food scale on the counter next to the gas range and a small notebook with a pen on top, filled with the same handwriting I saw on the spices.

I could be wrong, but I don't think Sarah lives here. It's not so much that the house seems absent of a woman's touch. It's more that the space just really feels like Adam.

I make my way back to the living room, walking slowly past the music room. On the wall just beside the piano, there's a seven-inch LP Elvis Christmas Album signed by Elvis Presley himself, framed in a glass case.

I swallow. I don't know a ton about collecting rare records, but I've read about the red vinyl Christmas LP, and it's worth thousands.

And Adam has one.

It's all I can do not to sit on the floor in front of his record shelf and see what else he has, but then I hear footsteps on the porch .

My heart starts pounding. It has to be Adam getting home.

Will he care that I'm still here? Will he be surprised to see me hanging out in his music room? I mean, he'll see my car, but it feels weird to just… be here, in his space.

I scramble to my feet and head into the living room. I can at least look like I'm on my way out and not snooping through his house.

Just before I reach the front door, a knock sounds on the other side.

Goldie stands alert, ears perked, and lets out a low woof.

Okay, so…maybe it isn't Adam getting home. But who else could it be?

That thought makes me nervous. Hope Acres is remote. There are no other houses in either direction for at least a mile, and I am very much alone.

I move to the front window in the living room and peek onto the porch. There's a man standing in front of the door and a dark sedan in the driveway. The man has shaggy brown hair and is wearing a leather jacket, but from this angle, I can't see his face.

He leans forward and knocks one more time, and I debate my options.

If I stay still and quiet, he'll likely just go away. That's the smartest course of action, right? Then I get to stay safely behind a locked door, and this stranger, whoever he is, can come back another time.

Outside, the man moves to the porch steps and sits down.

I frown. What am I supposed to do now?

I could go out the back door and try to creep over to my car, but there's no way the guy wouldn't see me .

I could call the police, but that feels like an overreaction. The guy could be perfectly nice.

He could also be a serial killer.

But honestly, what are the odds? He's hanging out on Adam's porch, clearly waiting for him to return, which means he must be a friend. Right?

Maybe I could call Adam and ask if he's expecting someone?

Or just go back to the barn and lock myself in with the dogs until Adam returns?

I peek through the window one more time. The man is leaning forward on his elbows, looking at his phone. There's something about his profile that feels vaguely familiar, but I don't think I've ever seen him before.

He does look pretty harmless. Lean and lanky. Not like Adam, with all his flexing forearms and biceps. I took a couple of self-defense classes in college, and I still remember a few moves. I could probably take this guy.

When in doubt, go for the eyes or go for the balls.

After one more deep breath, I make a decision, then steel myself and open the front door.

The man turns, then stands, a wide smile stretching across his face, and the air freezes in my lungs.

I do know this man. Me and every other woman on the planet.

Freddie Ridgefield is standing on Adam's porch.

The Freddie Ridgefield.

Three-time Grammy-award-winning, formerly of Midnight Rush, top ten artists in the world Freddie Ridgefield.

He smiles and stretches out his hand. "Hello. You must be Laney, Deke's fiancée."