Page 4 of Smith

“The first one came a month after I bought the house.”

“Which house?”

Aria set the stack in front of me, shuffled to the side just far enough away to hit the end of the row of cabinets and lean against them. Belatedly the smell of sawdust and…

“Have you been stripping wallpaper?”

It was comical the way her eyes widened, more so when she crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her hands under her biceps.

“Sorry.”

“Not sure why you’re saying sorry, and I hate to break it to you, but it’s not your hands.”

Her eyes glowed with feminine mischief, catching me in a moment of surprise. Consequently I was unprepared for her comeback.

“If it’s my clothes, I could take them off.”

Once the shock of her offer wore off and the teasing in her tone registered, I couldn’t hold back a bolt of laughter.

Aria Taylor was damn funny.

“I think I like you,” I muttered

“Because I offered to take my clothes off?”

Not even close.

And now I had a bigger problem. I didn’t want to fuck her. I wanted to get to know her.ThenI wanted to fuck her.

To stop myself from saying something I’d regret I glanced down at the envelopes and noted the address.

“Grasonville?”

“The house I’m currently working on. I bought it five months ago. The first letter came about a month after I purchased the house. And as you can see they’re not addressed to me.”

They weren’t addressed to anyone specifically.

“Has anything been sent here?”

“No. And before you ask, I’m not listed. I’m a single woman with an overprotective father who borderlines rabid when it comes to my safety. I know better than to have my informationout there. I pay a service to make sure my phone and address aren’t listed on any of the online services. My house isn’t in my name. My business is buried two deep and I used one of those registered agents for both businesses.”

“What about the mortgage?”

“This house is paid off. The mortgages on the flips are under an LLC with my father guaranteeing them. The PO box for the LLC is in Philly. My friend up there checks the box for me. Only close friends have my personal cell. I have a second phone for contractors and companies I work with. Again, that’s under the LLC. I’ve done everything I can to keep my personal information, just that—personal.” She paused to look at the letters. “Once you read them, you’ll understand why I don’t think they were meant for me. I just think with the post office, mail forwarding stops after a year. I bought the Grasonville house from a brother and sister. Their father was in a nursing home the final eight months of his life. The mail was forwarded to his son. After he passed it took them five months to sort the estate and clean out the house. That’s when I bought it.”

That might explain the letters but that wasn’t what had prompted her father to call Zane.

“And the break-in?”

“You know,” she started conversationally. “I love that my dad supports me and watches my YouTube channel but there are times I wish he didn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because that’s how he found out someone broke in. I filmed the clean-up and ranted about assholes who have no respect for other people’s property. My dad freaked out, called me, and I made the unfortunate mistake in my irritation to mention the letters.”

I nabbed the first envelope and pulled out a single sheet of white paper. When I unfolded it there wasn’t much to read. Thick, angry, haphazard writing.

I know.

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