Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Is that where the dean’s husband lives?”
I smirk, glancing past him to the hummingbird feeder. “No. He lives in Winnetka … with the dean.”
“So you’re not a homewrecker? Do you make it a habit of dining with married men?”
I laugh. “No. The story’s more complicated than that. Both stories. The dean forgave him, fired me, and I’m sure they’ll live happily ever after. Something tells me Molly’s parents don’t stand a chance of happily ever after.”
He nods slowly. “Don’t you need to look for a new job? I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“Are you tired of me already?”
He almost suppresses his grin. Almost.
“Besides,” I lean back and close my eyes, “one could ask you the same thing. Living out of a garage doesn’t make sense when you drive a BMW and own a grand piano. I bet there’s more to your story too.”
“I’ve never made sense.”
“Yeah, well, life doesn’t make sense.” I shake my head slowly, peeking an eye open.
Jack studies me over the rim of his glass before tipping it back.
“Dinner’s ready.” Eloise pokes her head out the door, and the herbaceous aroma wafts in my direction.
Jack waits and motions for me to go in first with a tiny nod and a quick once-over that gives me a chill—the good kind, not the serial killer one.
When we’re seated, I look around the table. Eloise Owen has graciously made dinner for a man living in her garage and a relative of the dead family next door. Are they my new friends? Will we exchange phone numbers and keep in touch?
“Steven loved my roast and potatoes,” Eloise says. “I used to make them for him when Lynn had to work late.”
I take a bite of the roast and nod. “Mmm … I can see why. It’s delicious.”
“Do you have someone filling in for you at school? Lynn said you’re a professor, right?” Eloise asks.
Jack smirks over a mouthful of potatoes while he slowly chews.
Swallowing, I shake my head. “I’m between jobs.”
“Oh? Why did you leave your last position?”
Jack eyes me, and with one look, I dare him to say a word like I used to dare my brother to rat me out at breakfast if I was out past curfew the previous night.
“There was a misunderstanding between the dean and me. And even if we worked things out, I feared it would affect my job at the university, so I left.”
Jack focuses on his plate of food while his head makes a tiny shake.
“That’s unfortunate.” Eloise offers a sincere, sad smile.
Jack could learn a little compassion from her.
“It is, but it was for the best in the bigger picture. It would have been hard to take so much time off work to be here.”
Eloise returns a thoughtful nod—too thoughtful. I’d prefer she not overthink my intentions or worry about me.
We eat. Silverware clink and tap. Occasionally, Eloise clears her throat, but words are not exchanged—the awkwardness of the silence multiplies.
Small talk to the rescue.
“So, Jack, what did you do before you became a garage dweller?” I tap my fork on my lips.
“Frankie.” Eloise smiles while shaking her head. “Jack’s a private person. And it’s best if we respect that.”
Is she saying that because she’s respectful of his privacy? Or is she still thinking he might be a killer?
“Thank you, Eloise. Dinner was amazing as always.” Jack slides back in his chair. “But I have some work to do.” He avoids any sort of glance in my direction as if I’m not here. He exudes confidence in everything he does.
Shoulders back.
Chin held high.
A perfected poker face. Well, not all of the time. I think it slips with me. The tiny twitch of a grin. The subtle rubbing together of his lips. He’s not immune to the hairline cracks in his composure where slivers of his human side shine through.
“That’s all you’re eating? There’s plenty more,” Eloise protests his early departure.
“I’ll pop in for leftovers tomorrow,” he says.
“Okay, dear. You are welcome to have dinner with me anytime.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “We’ll get the dishes … since that’s what women do.”
Halting, Jack sighs and grumbles, but I can’t make out his words.
“No. I’ve got the dishes.” Eloise blots her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“I wouldn't dream of letting you make dinner and not doing my part to help clean up.” I rest my hand on her arm.
She nervously eyes Jack while he pivots.
“Sorry. You’re right.” With a tight smile, he retraces his steps, gathering his empty plate and glass. Then, he proceeds to fill the sink with hot, soapy water.
“Frankie, I can handle it,” she says softly.
“You haven’t finished your meal. Take your time. Jack and I have everything. Besides, there’s still pie.” I carry my plate to the sink. “Do you prefer to wash or dry?”
With his head bowed to the growing suds, he scrubs the dishes while the sink fills with water. “What can I do to help expedite your trip home?”