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Crap.
My rising hopes fell again, the meager support structure collapsing out from underneath, unable to bear the weight of his inquiry.
“What’s wrong?” Carter asked. “You don’t trust me? Or is me driving you the issue?”
“Neither.” I felt like I was going to be sick.
Carter reached out and picked up my hand, squeezing it. “Tell me.”
Behind his head, in the aquarium, striped angelfish drifted up out of the coral and swirled in a school against the glass. I focused on the dancing fish, their pointed trailing fins. “Carter, the house my dad left me with isn’t the best. I’m kind of embarrassed at the thought of you seeing it.”
“No judgment here,” he said immediately. “You’re Cinderella, right?”
I was confused. What did that have to do with anything?
“Cinderella’s carriage started out as a simple pumpkin,” Carter reminded me. “You’ve arrived in my life no matter what, I don’t care which one you rode in on.”
I smiled, his sweet, funny response slipping past my defenses and embarrassment. “Now if only my fairy godmother would give me a makeover.”
“You’d look exactly the same.” Carter gazed at me, his eyes locked on mine. “Can’t improve upon perfection.”
“Carter…” My cheeks burned. My stomach fluttered.
Carter produced his phone. “Why don’t you tell me your address, before you can change your mind? And while you’re at it, let me know your phone number, just in case plans change in a hurry.”
I gave him both. He read each back to me to make sure he was correct, then put the phone back in his pocket. “I’m so excited. I can hardly wait.”
“Me, too,” I said, and surprised myself by actually meaning it.
CHAPTER17
CARTER
Ishowed up Megyn’s house, right on time. I had been very pleased to learn she lived on Staten Island, where she belonged, amidst the other many artists and creative souls who fed off the nearness of the ocean and many parks, using the sights to inspire them.
I was less pleased with the location, a high-density neighborhood with tiny houses and a bad reputation to boot. While not exactly on par with Harlem, or Skid Row, her neighborhood had seen more than its fair share of robberies and unfortunate incidents. Gang activity, while managed well enough by the police, was nevertheless present, and I had personally participated in an investigation on an artist who had been using his works as a drug front.
Megyn deserved better.
At least her street seemed to be relatively safe. I saw no graffiti tags, and while a few homes were behind on lawn work, it was within a respectable range. The owners had been too lazy for a couple days, most likely; they hadn’t neglected the care for months, never leaving their drug dens to notice.
As for Megyn’s house, the exterior had little in the way of decoration. The cold weather had already killed off most of her small lawn, which had bare patches of earth on it already, anyway. She had hung no decorations, hadn’t turned on her porch lights or set out candy for trick-or-treaters. I could have convinced myself no one was at home if not for the light in her bedroom, an orange glow much like the moody light of the rising moon.
I leaned my elbow on the steering wheel and put my chin in my hand. I understood her embarrassment. She had a roof over her head, but she knew a lot of people had much nicer rooves, myself included.
Who is her father? And her step-mother. What’s the story behind this place?
I briefly entertained the drugs idea. Megyn was absolutely not an addict or even a user. I knew the signs. Something weighed heavy on her, but it wasn’t a demon of that nature. Unless, as my theory went, her father and step-mother were the users. It would explain the tiny house, the neighborhood, Megyn’s shyness and seeming inability to recognize her own worth.
The light went off in Megyn’s bedroom. I turned my head, watching her progression through the little house by which lights turned on. Her silhouette passed in front of the living room window, and the sight of her took my breath away. She was so slim, so fragile and breakable. I wanted to rush in there and wrap her in my arms and refuse to let go, shelter her from the world that was often so hard on people like her.
The living room light went off. Megyn’s front door opened and she stepped out, illuminated in the headlights. Her Cinderella dress hugged her curves without being too revealing, letting her beauty stand on its own. Her skin gleamed, her hair shining like copper.
I couldn’t sit around any longer.
I got out of the car and went to meet her. She stopped, eyes widening, and then her lips curled into a smile and she went into my arms and hugged me tight. “Carter!”
I hugged her, burying my face in her sweet-scented hair. Her warmth chased away the fall chill and stirred desire for her in my groin. “Megyn, you look amazing!”