the book.” He paused thoughtfully. “He didn’t mention it?”
I shook my head. Dace hadn’t mentioned it. Not so much as a single word. Why did that not surprise me? “I don’t know him well,” I said. “Maybe he was waiting for me to bring it up. You know, being modest or whatever.”
I’d strangle him when I saw him. With both hands.
Dad shook his head. “I’m not sure I’d call it modesty. He’s … an old soul is the best way to describe him. A very old soul,” he amended, his tone just short of emphatic. “You didn’t pick up on it?”
Yes. No. I hadn’t thought about Dace that way, to be honest. But now that I did, I wasn’t sure I agreed. He had an air about him, like he saw more than most guys his age, but the old soul adage was too simplistic an explanation for him. The mystery surrounding him seemed more complex than that. A lot more. As usual, I just didn’t know what that meant.
I put down my fork, no longer hungry. “I didn’t pay much attention.”
“Oh, well.” Dad rose and gathered up his dishes. “Like I said, he’s a great guy.” He started to the sink and then stopped and looked back over his shoulder at me. “Be careful, Ari.”
Of what? I wanted to ask.
“Of course,” I said instead and gathered up my own dishes. My head spun.
I got the distinct impression Dad wanted to say something, that he knew something about Dace, and for whatever reason, didn’t think he had the right to tell me. But whatever he wasn’t saying had him worried, and that made me nervous.
Chapter Six
N ot even in sleep could I escape thoughts of Dace. When I managed to shut off my mind long enough to sleep at all, I dreamed of him. I awoke every morning disoriented, afraid, and unsure what I’d even dreamed. All I remembered clearly were impressions and snatches of color. Blood red on pure white. Black. Fire. Fear.
I still wasn’t afraid of Dace though; I was afraid for him. Something . . . stalked him? Chased him? I didn’t know. But trouble lay around the corner for him, and for me too. I had no doubts about that fact.
By Friday, I felt like an emotional wreck all over again. I was jumpy, irritable, and I couldn’t focus on anything. I went to sleep early that night, and for the first time since meeting Dace, I didn’t dream. My head hit the pillow and I was out. No tossing. No turning. No thinking. Just instant peace.
I awoke at dawn the following morning and didn’t want to let the feeling go. I snuggled deeper beneath the blankets and lay there with my eyes closed for the longest time. When I heard Dad leave two hours later, I slipped regretfully from beneath the covers and dressed, taking my sweet time. I had no real plans for the day, nowhere I needed to be. Nothing pressing I needed to do.
The first thing I noticed when I finally left my room was the note propped up on the table at the bottom of the stairs. Dad had scrawled my name across the top in his unmistakable, nearly perfect hand. I noticed the shopping bag with Farmer’s Market written in neat block letters next. My stomach growled.
I grabbed the note then headed to the kitchen.
One of the things I loved about Dad was his fresh fruit obsession. He never did store-bought. Everything he chose came from one fruit stand or another, and tasted delicious. I set the note on the table then headed for the fridge, my stomach growling the entire time.
My appetite returned little by little, and my body quivered at the thought of food. I rummaged through the now stocked drawer, grabbed an apple, then made a glass of tea. Sitting down at the table, I bit into the apple, moaning as the juice flooded my mouth. I picked up the note to read:
Ari,
I didn’t want to wake you, but I’ll be at the Inn all day, helping with renovations. Beth Michaelson called the house before I left to invite you to some sort of party tonight. Her number is on the pad by the phone in the kitchen. I’ll leave the light on for you if you’re out
I shook my head. Dace hadn’t mentioned it. Not so much as a single word. Why did that not surprise me? “I don’t know him well,” I said. “Maybe he was waiting for me to bring it up. You know, being modest or whatever.”
I’d strangle him when I saw him. With both hands.
Dad shook his head. “I’m not sure I’d call it modesty. He’s … an old soul is the best way to describe him. A very old soul,” he amended, his tone just short of emphatic. “You didn’t pick up on it?”
Yes. No. I hadn’t thought about Dace that way, to be honest. But now that I did, I wasn’t sure I agreed. He had an air about him, like he saw more than most guys his age, but the old soul adage was too simplistic an explanation for him. The mystery surrounding him seemed more complex than that. A lot more. As usual, I just didn’t know what that meant.
I put down my fork, no longer hungry. “I didn’t pay much attention.”
“Oh, well.” Dad rose and gathered up his dishes. “Like I said, he’s a great guy.” He started to the sink and then stopped and looked back over his shoulder at me. “Be careful, Ari.”
Of what? I wanted to ask.
“Of course,” I said instead and gathered up my own dishes. My head spun.
I got the distinct impression Dad wanted to say something, that he knew something about Dace, and for whatever reason, didn’t think he had the right to tell me. But whatever he wasn’t saying had him worried, and that made me nervous.
Chapter Six
N ot even in sleep could I escape thoughts of Dace. When I managed to shut off my mind long enough to sleep at all, I dreamed of him. I awoke every morning disoriented, afraid, and unsure what I’d even dreamed. All I remembered clearly were impressions and snatches of color. Blood red on pure white. Black. Fire. Fear.
I still wasn’t afraid of Dace though; I was afraid for him. Something . . . stalked him? Chased him? I didn’t know. But trouble lay around the corner for him, and for me too. I had no doubts about that fact.
By Friday, I felt like an emotional wreck all over again. I was jumpy, irritable, and I couldn’t focus on anything. I went to sleep early that night, and for the first time since meeting Dace, I didn’t dream. My head hit the pillow and I was out. No tossing. No turning. No thinking. Just instant peace.
I awoke at dawn the following morning and didn’t want to let the feeling go. I snuggled deeper beneath the blankets and lay there with my eyes closed for the longest time. When I heard Dad leave two hours later, I slipped regretfully from beneath the covers and dressed, taking my sweet time. I had no real plans for the day, nowhere I needed to be. Nothing pressing I needed to do.
The first thing I noticed when I finally left my room was the note propped up on the table at the bottom of the stairs. Dad had scrawled my name across the top in his unmistakable, nearly perfect hand. I noticed the shopping bag with Farmer’s Market written in neat block letters next. My stomach growled.
I grabbed the note then headed to the kitchen.
One of the things I loved about Dad was his fresh fruit obsession. He never did store-bought. Everything he chose came from one fruit stand or another, and tasted delicious. I set the note on the table then headed for the fridge, my stomach growling the entire time.
My appetite returned little by little, and my body quivered at the thought of food. I rummaged through the now stocked drawer, grabbed an apple, then made a glass of tea. Sitting down at the table, I bit into the apple, moaning as the juice flooded my mouth. I picked up the note to read:
Ari,
I didn’t want to wake you, but I’ll be at the Inn all day, helping with renovations. Beth Michaelson called the house before I left to invite you to some sort of party tonight. Her number is on the pad by the phone in the kitchen. I’ll leave the light on for you if you’re out
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