Heart's Price (MxM)

Chapter 8

It isn't until I return to Grace and Chloe's for dinner that I realize I completely forgot to ask Julian about the address Dr. Thorne had given me. Instead, I ask Grace—once I've finished wolfing down my second helping of jambalaya, that is.

"Ooh, Lakeside Avenue," she says, studying the card with the address. "That's posh real estate. I don't know it well, but I doubt there's a house on that street that would sell for less than a million."

I frown at that. Until I find a job, I'll be living off my savings, which honestly aren't as robust as they should be. Thorne hadn't mentioned rent, but 'posh' sounds out of my price range.

"Who walks around with their address printed on business cards, anyway?" Chloe asks, turning the card over to inspect the other side. "It's just his address, too. Like, no name, no phone number..."

"Well, he did say he was looking for a rent partner," I offer, although it doesn't make sense to me either, really.

"Hm. Well, what's your impression of this guy?" Grace asks, leaning towards me across the table. "I mean, he obviously likes animals, so point there, but then again Buffalo Bill loved his dog, too."

"I —" Honestly, I'm not sure what I think of Ambrose Thorne. "I don't know. I mean, I've talked to him twice, for a total of less than ten minutes. He's...attractive, and seems a little...arrogant, maybe. Other than that, I don't know."

"Do you want us to come with you to look at his place?" Grace asks. "We could run interference for you."

"Oh...no, that's not necessary," I say quickly. "Besides, I don't know if I'll even check it out."

"Okay. And don't rush into anything if you do," she adds. "You're welcome here, Noah, for as long as you need."

I return her smile, though I know it doesn't really reach my eyes.

I'm grateful, of course, but part of me is already eager to be gone. Not because of Chloe or Grace, or their house—both they and it are wonderful; and I know in my head that what they say is true, just like I know that what Dane said is true.

It's my heart that refuses to believe it; that's still too full of hurt to have room for anything like trust—especially in the idea that people love me, and actually want me around.

~ ☾ ~

The following afternoon finds me standing on the sidewalk in front of 411 Lakeside Avenue, repeatedly looking from the address on the card in my hand to the tarnished brass numbers affixed to the brick wall in front of me.

Through an iron gate I stare up at the house—the mansion—rather, trying to decide if this is more likely to be a joke or a mistake.

I don't know a lot about architecture, but I recognize the style as being something like Colonial, or maybe Greek Revival. It has pillars and gables, three stories, rows of windows with actual shutters, and multiple brick chimneys rising from a roof with more levels and angles than I can count. It also appears to have seen better days.

The grounds at least, seem to be in disrepair, with what was once a garden of some sort now a wilderness of overgrown rosebushes and weeds. The paint on the trim also looks to be peeling in places, and one of the upper windows is broken.

Overall, it gives a romantically haunted impression that sends a shiver down my spine.

A shiver that turns into a startled gasp as a voice speaks suddenly and very close at my back.

"Bit of a wreck, isn't she? But it's what's inside that counts."

I turn, resisting the reflex to press my hand over my heart like the heroine of some Victorian drama, and find Ambrose Thorne watching me with a curious look in his brown eyes.