Read Online Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) by Elizabeth Alix - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Alix
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T-shirt came to the door.
“Hello! Hi, I’m your new neighbor, next door,” she called out cheerfully with her friendliest smile.
The crease between his heavy dark brows gave him a faintly annoyed expression, but his voice was pleasant enough. “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m John Cavarelli.” He opened the door and invited her into the foyer. The cool air was a relief from the heat of outside. He thrust out his hand, and she shook it firmly.
“I’m Marianne Singleton. It’s nice to meet you. I moved in to number 25 yesterday. I’m renting from Mrs. Thomas,” she explained.
He nodded, “Welcome to the neighborhood. My wife, Maria, is out doing some errands. She’ll be pleased to meet you. Our son, Mikey, is out at basketball practice.” His New York accent made her feel right at home.
Marianne said, “This is a really nice neighborhood. I’m looking forward to living here. It’s very quiet and peaceful compared to the city.”
He nodded again. “You plan on cleaning up the yard? Gloria’s never bothers to mow the lawn.” He sounded unhappy about his beautiful property being next to such a dump.
She said apologetically, “Yes, I hope to tame it down and clean up the flower beds. Maybe you know of someone I could hire to mow for me? I don’t have a mower yet.” She looked hopeful.
“I might. Mikey is old enough to mow lawns. I’ll ask him.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that. I’m starting with painting the inside. I wondered if you had a ladder I could borrow?”
“Yeah, sure. What size you need? I’ve got a six-foot and a twelve-foot. Or do you just need a step stool?”
He took her to the tidy garage, and she selected the six-foot ladder. He offered to carry it over for her.
“Thank you,” Marianne said gratefully after he leaned it against the wall in the living room. “I look forward to meeting your wife and son.”
“Sure. Come by tomorrow,” he said as he left.
Marianne spent the rest of the day putting the final coat of paint on the office and getting the primer on her own bedroom walls. She had a momentary flash of the angry man in her strange dream but told herself firmly, “My house, my colors.”
Mid-afternoon the Big Ben door chime rang, and she came off the ladder to answer it. The cable Internet installer messed around with the junction box outside and then hooked up her TV in the living room. He also set up equipment for the Internet in the extra bedroom with a wireless router, so she could access it anywhere in the house. She named her router “History101” and sighed happily, feeling connected to the world again.
Hoping for a message from a fellow historian, she took a break and checked her email. As she scrolled through the accumulation, the pit of her stomach dropped. Hidden in the pile of messages like maggots in a jelly donut, there were no less than three emails from Geoffrey, telling her he’d found something of hers left behind at their apartment. He wanted to meet with her to return it, or she could come and pick it up. Even though they were only emails, electrons on a screen, she still felt sick to her stomach that her ex had invaded her space. Wanting to delete them off her machine, to make him go away, she forced herself to file them away in case she needed evidence for a restraining order. She refused to email him back, though a part of her wailed, “Leave me alone!” If he had anything left of hers, she didn’t want it.
To make matters worse, there were no emails from her colleagues.
After the cable guy left, Marianne felt out of sorts and headed up to town again. Saturday was even busier than Friday had been with tourists and locals out and about in spite of the heat. She walked around exploring the side streets, relieved to have people around her. Surreptitiously, she kept an eye out for Geoffrey’s silver Lexus, and her heart gave a little jump at the sight of every silver car until she told herself to get a grip. As far as Marianne
“Hello! Hi, I’m your new neighbor, next door,” she called out cheerfully with her friendliest smile.
The crease between his heavy dark brows gave him a faintly annoyed expression, but his voice was pleasant enough. “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m John Cavarelli.” He opened the door and invited her into the foyer. The cool air was a relief from the heat of outside. He thrust out his hand, and she shook it firmly.
“I’m Marianne Singleton. It’s nice to meet you. I moved in to number 25 yesterday. I’m renting from Mrs. Thomas,” she explained.
He nodded, “Welcome to the neighborhood. My wife, Maria, is out doing some errands. She’ll be pleased to meet you. Our son, Mikey, is out at basketball practice.” His New York accent made her feel right at home.
Marianne said, “This is a really nice neighborhood. I’m looking forward to living here. It’s very quiet and peaceful compared to the city.”
He nodded again. “You plan on cleaning up the yard? Gloria’s never bothers to mow the lawn.” He sounded unhappy about his beautiful property being next to such a dump.
She said apologetically, “Yes, I hope to tame it down and clean up the flower beds. Maybe you know of someone I could hire to mow for me? I don’t have a mower yet.” She looked hopeful.
“I might. Mikey is old enough to mow lawns. I’ll ask him.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that. I’m starting with painting the inside. I wondered if you had a ladder I could borrow?”
“Yeah, sure. What size you need? I’ve got a six-foot and a twelve-foot. Or do you just need a step stool?”
He took her to the tidy garage, and she selected the six-foot ladder. He offered to carry it over for her.
“Thank you,” Marianne said gratefully after he leaned it against the wall in the living room. “I look forward to meeting your wife and son.”
“Sure. Come by tomorrow,” he said as he left.
Marianne spent the rest of the day putting the final coat of paint on the office and getting the primer on her own bedroom walls. She had a momentary flash of the angry man in her strange dream but told herself firmly, “My house, my colors.”
Mid-afternoon the Big Ben door chime rang, and she came off the ladder to answer it. The cable Internet installer messed around with the junction box outside and then hooked up her TV in the living room. He also set up equipment for the Internet in the extra bedroom with a wireless router, so she could access it anywhere in the house. She named her router “History101” and sighed happily, feeling connected to the world again.
Hoping for a message from a fellow historian, she took a break and checked her email. As she scrolled through the accumulation, the pit of her stomach dropped. Hidden in the pile of messages like maggots in a jelly donut, there were no less than three emails from Geoffrey, telling her he’d found something of hers left behind at their apartment. He wanted to meet with her to return it, or she could come and pick it up. Even though they were only emails, electrons on a screen, she still felt sick to her stomach that her ex had invaded her space. Wanting to delete them off her machine, to make him go away, she forced herself to file them away in case she needed evidence for a restraining order. She refused to email him back, though a part of her wailed, “Leave me alone!” If he had anything left of hers, she didn’t want it.
To make matters worse, there were no emails from her colleagues.
After the cable guy left, Marianne felt out of sorts and headed up to town again. Saturday was even busier than Friday had been with tourists and locals out and about in spite of the heat. She walked around exploring the side streets, relieved to have people around her. Surreptitiously, she kept an eye out for Geoffrey’s silver Lexus, and her heart gave a little jump at the sight of every silver car until she told herself to get a grip. As far as Marianne
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