Lloyd jumped up and knocked over a frame that sat on the window ledge, and it tumbled down and landed inside an open box.
“Such a brat.” I tugged the photo free and took a moment to admire it.
#1 Wall Street Journal Author S Peters takes the romantic suspense world to a whole new level with her first book, “Tiny Dark Secrets.” With three awards and a movie deal, she will be the James Patterson of our generation!
I flipped the newspaper clipping over and shoved it into the top drawer of the desk. In a twist, I moved the chair and unwrapped a family photo. My parents’ smiles beamed at me from the picture. It was when they first built the cabin. My brother was, of course, MIA at the time. I set it in the empty spot and went back to work.
“Okay, enough is enough, Spencer, open the door and let me in!” I smirked at her shrill squeal. “It’s flippin’ freezing, and I swear a raccoon is eyeing me for a possible romp in the leaves.”
I tossed my glasses on the desk and hurried across the living room and opened the door.
“Well,” Jaci raised her eyebrows at my leggings and baggy Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, “you look just as I expected.”
“Meaning?” I stepped aside as my best friend pushed past me, tugging her suitcase behind her. Bentley lifted his head as if to acknowledge her but flopped back down with a grunt. He wasn’t one for people interrupting his many naps.
“Meaning you need a little me time.”
“How lucky.” I dripped with sarcasm but broke out into a smile when she looked around and seemed impressed with the work I had done.
“You did all this in three weeks?”
“One, actually. I had a deadline.” I pointed to my Mac.
“You didn’t ask for an extension?” She removed her jacket and draped it on the back of the chair.
“Didn’t need one.”
She kicked off her shoes, made herself comfortable on the couch, and waited for me to join her.
“Hey, Bentley,” she called to him. He opened one eye and yawned rather dramatically. “Your dog doesn’t like me.”
“He does, he’s just old and likes his naps.”
“Meh, I get that.” She shrugged. “So?” She changed the topic.
“I only know what you do,” I assured her.
She observed me carefully. “You seem like you’re handling your brother situation pretty well. You don’t look like you have any real anger issues in your life.”
“I do. I just channel it differently than you. Why do you think I write mystery suspense?”
“Touché.” She made a face. “And romance, can’t forget about that bathhouse scene you wrote for book two. Damn, I still feel winded.”
“Yeah.” I sighed dramatically. “Gotta love a good sex scene.”
“I wish I could get my hands on the actual paperback.”
I knew what she was feeling. I sometimes wished I could see my finished projects too.
“Do you still…” she giggled, “you know, get in the mood when you write certain spots?”
A pillow met her head, but I shrugged with a smirk. “Nothing like a glass of wine, silk, and some Justin Timberlake to help open the mind.”
“I love your job.”
“Mmm,” was all I offered. Nothing was better than the real thing for research.
I sank further and rested my head to stare up at the cathedral ceiling. My parents had spent two years building this cabin. Everything was dialed in to what they wanted. I guessed you could say it was the perk of being architects. They took their time with it because, as social as they were, they loved their privacy.
The cabin was built on an angle that allowed them privacy in every direction but the driveway, and even those windows were tinted so it was hard to see in from the outside, even at night. It drove their nosy neighbor nuts, which always entertained us. My father would say, “A little mystery is a lot more appealing than knowing everything about someone.”
“Has your Uncle G been over to visit you yet?”
I shook my head. “He will, but he knows I’m settling in and will want to give me some space. I’m sure he’ll be around. He invited me to a barbecue tomorrow night to welcome a new guy…” I trailed off and listened to a low-powered engine. The neighbors loved to fish.
“What’s it like being here?”
“Some days are harder than others, but being here helps.”
A lot of people would think it was messed up to live in the same house where your parents were murdered, but I felt closer to them being here, and that was what I was looking for.
Jaci looked around. “People dream of having a home like this, so I don’t blame you for moving in. I would have too.” She clapped her hands. “Your father built one sick hot tub.” She jumped to her feet and pressed her face to the glass. “Built right into the dock too. That’s crazy, Spencer.”
“Yeah.” I fought the images of the last time I was in there. I had a bad day, and Mom brought me a glass of wine and told me to let the stars carry my stress for a bit. I convinced her to join me and was able to express my frustrations about Justin, how we didn’t seem to fit anymore. She always knew what to say. God, I missed her.
Jaci was the only one who knew what I had been through with my family and was there for me every step of the way.
She turned when I went silent and slapped her hands together to pull me out of my thoughts. “I’m making us dinner.”
“I won’t protest.” I loved that she didn’t want to beat a dead horse by talking about my family. It was what it was.
“Go shower, and we’ll head into town and get some wine, steak, and cheesecake.”
I pretended to be annoyed, but to be honest, I knew I needed a break from all the awful food I had been eating.
It was a fifteen-minute walk to the nearest market, ten if you hurried, twenty if you had a Jaci with you. We drew plenty of attention on our walk. I’d spent a lot of time here as a child, so the looks I got were not a surprise. I was the little town’s bachelorette, and they all probably felt it was now their mission to find me someone.
“See,” Jaci wrapped her arm through mine, “when you shower, you look hot.” She nodded at a man who held the market door open for us.
“Ladies.” He smiled.
“Such a gentleman.” She winked and started to strike up a conversation while I headed straight to the wine section. I heard her explain that her name was pronounced like Jackie not how most said it as Jay-See. I laughed. The poor girl had been battling the spelling of her name her whole life.
I quickly grabbed my favorites and started to load up the wagon we had brought. Jaci joined me with an armful of different cheeses and crackers.
“He’s a lawyer from New York visiting family on the other side of town.”
“Name?” I reached for a chocolate cheesecake, inspecting the thin crust.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Douggy or Dan or something.” She waved me off. “Not like I’m gonna sleep with him, but it is okay to know your loins are still working.” She smacked my ass to make her point. “And you, my friend, have a tight little body and hair most women would kill for.” She brushed her fingers through my long, wavy, brown hair. “Nina Dobrev.”