Five Hours a Year novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: The Porch

"Bill me," Alec said again, and his hand stayed where it was.

His face was close enough that I could see a nick on his jaw where he'd shaved on the plane.

I had told myself for a week that I wasn't going to want this.

I wanted it so badly my knees shook.

"Mr. Kittridge," I said. "You're at 11:47 p.m. and the meter doesn't run at my door."

"Then why is my pulse running?"

"Jet lag."

I saw him fight a smile.

"That's what I'd say, too."

I stepped back, and his hand slid off my coat.

I went inside and shut the door and stood against it in the dark with my heart going hard.

I heard him stand there a full minute before he walked away.

My mother arrived on Saturday with a wheeled suitcase, a coffee cake, and the news that her sister had run out of casseroles.

Frances insisted we all have dinner at her house on Russian Hill.

My mother stood in Frances's kitchen in her good cardigan, drying a platter I'd already dried.

"Alec is coming," I said.

"I figured."

"I'm not forgiving him."

"I didn't say you should." She hung the towel on the oven door. "Sit down, Leah."

I sat.

"There's a thing I didn't tell you at home, because you had enough." She folded her glasses. "The night after the funeral, around midnight, I couldn't sleep. I went down for water, and there was a man on our porch."

"Mom."

"It was Alec. Sitting on the top step in his good suit with his shoes off. He'd driven back from the airport hotel."

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