HOPE
The next morning, as I descend the sweeping staircase, I will myself not to dwell on whatever trouble the day might bring.
Especially not on Kaleb.
I shove the memory of our encounter deep down, locking it away where it can't unsteady me again. When I find the sitting room empty, I almost smile.
I feel a ripple in that hollow emptiness that has been hounding me.
I can at last look through the art on the walls, take time to observe and admire it.
My heart is fucking racing at the thought. I am about to head toward a room I noted was nearly covered in paintings when low male voices float out from the dining room.
I pause. I probably didn't look well enough when I thought no one was around.
The voices are tense enough that I make my steps silent as I slide into the shadows behind the open door. I don't know why, but if they are this discreet about a conversation, I honestly want to know what it's about.
