My Dad's Bestfriend (Evelyn and Jacob) novel Chapter 257

Sienna

"Alex, you sure there aren't any..." I swallowed, scanning the trees. The only light came from his phone's flashlight and, of course, that wasn't much. "Deadly animals around here?"

He chuckled. "Someone's chickening out, huh? Surprising for someone so mouthy all the time," He glanced at me, unbothered. The deeper we walked, the denser the trees became — it felt almost like another world, though I'd never been to the A****n.

"I don't want to get mauled by a tiger or a bear," I shot back. Practical panic sounded worse. I should have just said— I was scared of being alone with him.

"This isn't a jungle, Sienna." He sounded amused. "It's just acres of land left to grow for decades. The most you'd find are chipmunks, maybe a fox or two — a few snakes, but not venomous."

"How can I trust you on that?"

"Look how you're clutching my arm." He paused, eyes drifting to where my hand looped around his sleeve like a lifeline — which, embarrassingly, it was. "Right now I'm the only person you trust." He turned his face toward mine, amusement softening the edges.

This man never failed to get on my nerves!

I yanked my hand back. "It was a reflex. Don't read into it."

"You're paranoid for nothing," he said, and before I could protest he took my hand again and pulled me through the woods. My objections died on the path of his grin.

Minutes later a chalet rose from the trees — lights blazing, warm and impossibly picturesque. For a second my mouth fell open. The place looked like a postcard: two stories, balconies that dipped toward the lake, every window glowing. Why in the damn hell someone build something so beautiful away from people's attention? It looked like a hideaway.

"My god, this is...pretty." I whispered. "But shit!The lights are on. We can't just—what if someone calls the police?"

"Lights are on because a worker comes by. Nobody's here now. Trust me." He kicked the door and stepped inside, as casual as if he'd been invited.

"Are you stalking the owners?" The thought was ridiculous and somehow inevitable. He'd stalked me—It wouldn't be surprising if he stalked other people as well.

He turned and shot me one of those looks. "Flower," he said, and for the first time in a while, he sounded like someone else entirely, "I am the owner."

"What the—" Before I could finish, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. We stepped inside and he flicked switches; light flooded the rooms. My jaw dropped.

This wasn't the cold, clinical place I expected from Alexander Grayson. It was homey. Open stairs led to the second floor; plush white sofas made the living room look lived-in. The kitchen was neat with a woman's touch — jars lined up, a small vase of flowers. The dining table sat four, not the huge, ostentatious set I'd imagined. On the wall above the couch hung a family portrait: two children and a couple. For a moment the faces blurred until I recognized the messy hair and a pair of blue eyes — his.

"That's you, isn't it?" I stepped closer, smiling despite myself. He looked almost adorable there, not the menace I'd come to know.

"The eyes give it away, don't they?" He stood behind me, hands in his jeans pockets, but there was something softer in his voice.

"The smile too." I tilted my head, memorizing the boy in the picture. "Always had a devilish curve."

He chuckled. "An artist's eyes. Can't fault that."

"Who's the other kid?" I asked, studying the second child. Different hair, brown eyes — a clear contrast to Alex's deep blue. "Is that your—"

"Brother. Unfortunately." He shrugged, shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa before moving into the kitchen. "What do you want to eat? I'll cook."

"I've never seen you with your brother." I followed, watching him open cabinets like he belonged here. "Are you two not in touch?"

He stiffened, a small thing only I would've noticed, fingers pausing over a knife. He knew the house intimately — which suggested he'd been here a lot. Alone—the thought alone seemed too sad.

"Yes. We prefer it that way." He sighed and went to the stove. "Any other questions, detective?"

I had a hundred, but asking them felt wrong. He tried for indifference and failed — at least in front of me.

"You love this house, don't you?" I said, stepping close while he pulled a cutting board from the drawer, the knife glinting under the kitchen light. I was probably out of context but...the knife in the hands of a man like him looked both dangerous and...sexy.

"It was the one and only thing my dad left for me," he said flatly, as if putting the knife into the wound would make it smaller. "So I keep it like it was. That's all." The plainness of his words made it evident how it hurt although he didn't let a single drop of the pain be evident over his features.

I didn't press. Dad was a raw nerve for him. I'd heard the rumours — how he'd vanished overnight, how people whispered that he'd abandoned them. Since then, anyone who touched that subject got a broken nose or worse. The violence began there. Pieces of the story I'd never fitted together in college started to slot into place now.

"What are you cooking?" I hopped up onto the counter, watching him move around the kitchen. "Don't poison me, okay?"

"Since you won't answer, I decided for you — your favorite, Aglio e olio." He dropped spaghetti into the pot like he'd done it a thousand times. Alexander knew how to cook—that was the tea.

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