“Have you read his stories?”
Mom picked up a book from beside the bed. “I’m reading the first one now. I can hardly put it down.” She added it to her suitcase, then looked around the room. “I think that’s everything. Do you need a hand with your art supplies?”
“Alex and I have packed most of what I need. I just need to take my photographs with me.”
“Let’s do that now.” She closed her suitcase and extended the handle.
We left the bag by the door and walked into my studio. Without the canvas on the easel or the paints spread across my worktable, the room looked bare.
“How’s Eric?” Mom asked.
I took the pins out of the photos on the board. “He’s good at hiding how he’s feeling, but he’s worried.”
“I don’t blame him. You hear horror stories about what some stalkers do to their victims.”
I bit my bottom lip, hoping what we’d both heard wasn’t true. But it scared me, too. “The police know what they’re doing.”
Mom placed the photos in an envelope. “I hope so.”
I picked up a bag of old fabric I used as rags. If staying with Alex didn’t work, I had no idea what we’d do next.
thirty-six
RILEY
As I walked downstairs the next morning, I run my hand along the banister. For some reason, I thought Alex’s home would be a small cabin in the middle of a forest. The only thing I was right about was the forest.
When we arrived, it was too dark to see much. But I knew from the pitch of the roof and the wide veranda that the house was much larger than I’d imagined.
Once we got inside, I was blown away by the rustic grandeur of the design. With its sweeping staircase, moose antler chandelier, and polished wooden floors, the house wrapped me in its warmth and made me feel at home.
Alex walked out of the living room and smiled. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I thought. Your home is amazing.”
“The original cabin was an eighteen-foot by twelve-foot room. I barely survived my first winter.”
My eyes widened. “When did you build this house?”
“Last summer. It was a logistical nightmare. We had to make sure the house was watertight before winter hit. We were lucky that a forecasted storm never made it as far as Sunrise Bay. We had so many delays that I never thought we’d finish.”
“I’m glad you kept going. Everything’s perfect.”
“You’re more than welcome to explore the rest of the house. And when you’re ready for breakfast, the kitchen’s that way.” Alex pointed to a wide doorway at the end of the hallway. “There’s cereal, toast, and pancakes waiting for you.”
“Pancakes?”
“Your mom has been busy. She was telling me about Sunrise Bay when she was younger. It was completely different.”
I remembered the stories about covered wagon trips, rodeos, and playing music around campfires with Granddad and Grandma. “It was a much simpler life. No computers, no Internet, and no social media.”
“There goes my job,” Alex said, although he didn’t seem too upset about it. “I’m heading outside. If you’re looking for Eric, he’s in the garage.”
“Thanks.” Instead of heading toward the kitchen, I opened a door a few steps away. The garage was big enough to hold four vehicles. Having extra room during the winter would come in handy, especially if the house was surrounded by six feet of snow.
Eric’s head was under the raised hood of a vintage truck. Its shiny red paint and chrome grill gleamed under the fluorescent lights. “The engine looks great,” he said. “I can’t believe you found a 1948 Chevy in Billings.”
When I didn’t reply, Eric looked over his shoulder. Our eyes connected and a tingle of awareness shot through me.