Read Online The House on Tradd Street by Karen White - Free Book Online

both cheeks in greeting, and when he apologized for being a few minutes late because his yoga class had run over, I knew right then that I had to introduce him to Sophie. Finding her soul mate was the least I could do to thank her for taking General Lee until I could figure out what to do with him. I was already in the throes of planning their wedding reception when my doorbell rang.
    Clasping my grandmother Middleton’s pearls around my neck, I walked to the door, admiring the way my dress swished around my legs. Giving my upswept and elegant hairdo one last pat, I opened the door.
    My first impression was that the photo on his book’s dust jacket didn’t do him justice. He was very tall, about four inches taller than my own five foot eight, and his very bright blue eyes were looking at me with what I assumed was the same wide-eyed expression I was using on him.
    He wore a starched white button-down shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, and loafers without socks. I also noticed that he was younger than me, followed in quick succession by the thought that he was dressed for a dinner at Cracker Barrel, and I was dressed for a dinner at Anson’s.
    Before he could say anything, I said, “Wait a minute. I forgot my purse,” and slammed the door in his face. What now? Feeling slightly deflated by the fact that I had obviously envisioned a much more elegant evening than he had, my first instinct was to open the door and berate him for misleading me. Instead, remembering my mission, I stood in front of the closed door and quickly raked my fingers through my hair, loosening all bobby pins and letting them fly through the air. When I was sure they were all gone, I flipped my head upside down to fluff my hair into a more casual style, grabbed my purse, which was sitting on the hall table, and opened the door. If this is what it took to make myself more approachable, then maybe I could do it.
    I smiled calmly and stuck out my hand. “Sorry about that. I’m Melanie Middleton.”
    His smile mimicked the one on his dust jacket, and I wondered if he’d practiced it to get it so perfect. If I wasn’t such a strong-minded individual, I might even have fallen for it.
    His handshake was strong and firm and lasted a little too long. “It’s nice to meet you, Mellie. Great dress, by the way.”
    “Oh, thanks,” I said, my lowered opinion of him climbing up a few notches. I smiled brightly as he allowed me to lead us out of the building and to the street, where his car was parked. “And by the way, nobody calls me Mellie.”
    He stopped in front of a shiny black Porsche and opened the passenger door. “But you look like a Mellie.”
    I slid onto the leather seat and looked up at him in confusion. “But you called me Mellie before you’d seen me—when we spoke on the phone.” I wasn’t fishing for a compliment—not really—but I wanted to know if he’d called me because he’d seen my picture in one of my ads. Not that the vanity card was in my deck of vices, but it had been an embarrassingly long time since a guy had called me with anything romantic in mind, and I needed a little ego stroking.
    He shrugged as he closed the door, then walked over to his side and slid in behind the wheel. “What can I say? I’m a thorough researcher—it’s my job. I wanted to find out more about you. All I had to do was go to the library and search in their archives. Since you’re from such a well-known family, I knew you had to be all over the papers. My favorite was the second-place award in the baton-twirling competition in second grade. There was a picture with you and your mom, and I know she referred to you as ‘Mellie’ in the article.”
    I looked away. “I prefer Melanie,” I said faintly.
    The engine hummed softly when he turned the key and headed out into the early-evening traffic and across the Cooper River Bridge. We sped down East Bay and then onto a series of small, side streets. As we paused at