“This will be just enough to tide me over until I get home,” I answered quickly. “They’ll have so much food prepared, I’ll want to make sure I have plenty of room in my stomach.” I smiled. “Besides. Soup is good. It’s nice and warm.” I sipped my cocoa. “I’m fine, really.”

“Is it because you hate where my money comes from?” he asked.

I considered that. “Yes. And also I’m not a big eater, is all.”

His smile warmed me. “Guess I’m just used to Olivia. God, that girl can eat.”

I remembered that she could.

I remembered envying it at some point, too.

When our food came, we ate in not-too-uncomfortable silence. I sensed Kane was thinking about me and my awkward ways. About Thanksgiving. About him being with Brax and Olivia, and me being, well. In my own direction. Soon, though, we were finished, and on our way out he grabbed two mints at the hostess’ desk from a small wicker basket. He handed me one, and we both peeled the wrappers off and popped the mint in our mouths. As we left the restaurant, he draped his arm over my shoulders and pulled me against him. I liked the way it felt; warm, protective even. I fought the urge to sink into him. Sag against him. Tell him everything. To stay with him. Go to Olivia’s folks for Thanksgiving. To see what it would be like to be…normal.

I didn’t. Didn’t do any of that.

At the car, he turned me to him, his arms sliding down my waist. Kane’s touch stirred something inside of me: a heat, a fire, a desire I was brand new to. I understood it; I didn’t know how to handle it. He lowered his head and kissed me, and the taste of the mint he’d just eaten lingered on my tongue.

“I hadn’t counted on you, Harper Belle,” he said quietly. “You came out of nowhere.”

I simply looked at him, surprised by his words.

In his eyes, I heard more; could see he wanted to say a lot more to me, but didn’t. Wouldn’t. Maybe it was too soon? Maybe he was unsure of me. Just as I was of him. Either way, he swiped his lips across mine once more, and this time I allowed myself to breathe him in, sink into Kane. He groaned, deepened the kiss, and I was alarmed at how the fire inside of me flamed.

“Call me when you get to your folks’ place, okay?” he said, then kissed the tip of my nose. “Drive safe. Watch out for idiots.”

My face cracked as I smiled against the cold air. “I will. You do the same.”

“Olivia’s driving, thank God,” he teased. “Queen of safe.”

As I pulled away from the Ridgeview, I watched Kane as he watched me leave. Legs braced wide, hands shoved in his leather jacket pockets, hair sticking up every which way. He stood that way until I turned out of the little causeway leading from the restaurant. When I turned onto the main road, my breath eased from me. I’d been holding it for what reason? Hoping to keep hidden the things I wished to hide from Kane? Why did he matter so much?

Never did I expect the feelings I was experiencing. Had I kissed some random stranger, would I still be experiencing the same sensations? That fiery desire that, even now, miles down the road from him, still burned inside of me? Or was it happening because of him? Because we connected in a way I was too scared to explore. Too scared to admit.

I had too much old, bitter, baggage. I had that…thing inside of me that I wanted no one to ever see. Too much pain accompanied me. I was consumed with it. It’d never go away and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.

As I drove, and got to that half-way mark between Winston and Belle House, my anxiety leveled out. I knew it wouldn’t last; it was only because here, I was in the middle. Nothing was expected of me. I was not at school, where everyone thought I was a pampered upper-crust socialite who’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth. And I wasn’t at Belle House, where I wasn’t really a Belle at all, and where I was more like an unwanted pregnancy; an orphan. A mistake. A reject.

In the middle, I could be me. No one cared if I was pretty. No one cared if I had money. Not one soul cared if my parents had been drug addicts, or if I’d been caught in the middle. That’d it all been because of me. My fault.

Here, I simply was me, and I breathed.

Almost seven hours from Winston, when the very last rays of dusk reached over the dense pines and cottonwoods and flowering pear trees, the lane leading to Belle House emerged from the shadows. I didn’t need to put on my turn signal. No one ventured out here. Ever. Not anymore.

I turned up the lane and began my ascent, climbing the narrow lane now overgrown with underbrush. The wayward branches swiped at the side of my car, like fingers trying to grab at me, pull me into the dark depths of the woods. My breathing became harsh, fast, and I hit the accelerator. Gravel, pine needles and dirt spat out behind me as I climbed faster. I always hated this drive. Hated it.

Finally, I crested the hill and the darkened halls of Belle House greeted me once again. It reminded me of a toothless old man, grinning at me from the darkness. My headlight beams arced over the pillars of the entrance; dark, curtains drawn, lights extinguished. The cast iron lamp posts lay void of their flames; the circle drive empty. Remnants of the past year’s storms lay strewn all over the lawn, the verandas; pine branches, old straw, pinecones and debris. I parked close to the veranda and with a heavy sigh, killed the engine and climbed out. Grabbing my overnight bag and my flashlight, I eased the door closed and headed to the entrance.

Who would’ve ever thought that, in a grand magnificent mansion such as Belle House, the key would be kept beneath the doormat? It almost made me laugh, but when I kicked the corner of the mat up with the toe of my pump, there it was, just where I’d left it. I bent down, grasped the copper key, and slipped it into the lock. For the first time in almost a year, I let myself in.