“Yeah,” I agree, not really knowing what else to say, which is rather unlike me, but there’s something about Sierra’s place that’s welcoming…and so homey. I’ve never felt this before, and I’ve only been here for a few minutes. I don’t even want to think about how fucked up that is. “It is nice.”
“Do you want anything to drink?” She opens the oven and pulls out a tray of square pastries. “I have wine, but I think I’m going to forgo alcohol tonight, for obvious reasons.”
I chuckle. “I’ll skip it with you.”
She pours two glasses of lemonade and sits next to me at the kitchen table, serving the beignets.
“These are really good,” I say, after taking a bite. “I’m impressed with your baking skills.”
She waves her hand in the air. “These are easy. My grandma is an amazing cook. She actually grew up really poor and her own mother had to improvise a lot in order to feed her family. She taught us the best of her recipes.”
“So, she wasn’t born a Belmont?” I ask and take another bite. “I might have looked up your family history on the internet,” I confess. “I find that kind of stuff fascinating.”
Sierra smiles. “I do too, which is why I live here instead of a new house like my sister. Houses like this don’t do well when left empty. And no, my grandma wasn’t. She married into the Belmonts but it was because of her my grandfather started doing business with one of those big food chains. It’s an interesting tale. I like hearing her talk about it as lame as that sounds.”
“It’s not lame at all. But what might be lame is that I’m really curious if this house was actually part of the Underground Railroad or not.”
Sierra beams. “There’s no actual proof, but we think so because of this weird space upstairs with a hidden door. Want to see it?”
“Hell yes.”
She brushes powdered sugar from her fingers, takes a drink, and gets up. Excitement gleams in her emerald eyes as she leads me up a narrow staircase.
“A historian came out and evaluated the weird little room not that long ago,” she explains. “And she couldn’t come up with a logical explanation for it, which is why we think it was used to hide slaves trying to escape to freedom. And one of my ancestors was hanged for helping slaves run away, so it fits the history.”
There are two rooms upstairs. One is set up as a guest room and the other has bookshelves along the entire perimeter. A yoga mat and exercise ball are the only furniture. We go into that room and I can’t help but admire all of Sierra’s books as we pass through. She takes me to what I presume to be a closet, turns on a light, and pushes clothes out of the way. She pushes on a piece of old paneling, moving it to the side to reveal a small door.
“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Because you have to do a bit of crawling.” She drops to her knees and grabs a flashlight that’s stashed right inside the little trap door. She’s wearing a short dress and her ass is in my face as we move through a narrow crawlspace that follows the roofline of this old house. It’s weird to get turned on in a place like this, I know, but I can’t help it. Sierra is too fucking good-looking to begin with. Pair that with her interest in history, and I want to fuck her right here in this hidden room.
“We’re behind the other room now,” she tells me as she stands, shining the light around. The roofline angles down on one side, and exposed beams and insulation surround us. The room looks like an old attic and is only a few feet wide. “There was a cot in here, right up against that wall.” She shines the light on the wall opposite us. “But it was full of mice so it had to be taken out. And there was another door leading from the crawlspace to here, but it wasn’t in good shape either. Some of the boards had to be replaced, and obviously the little squares of carpet were added. I got splinters enough times crawling through here that I lined it to save my knees.”
“Do you hang out in here often?”
“No. It’s hot as hell, as you can tell. But sometimes I come here and just think about who stayed here, praying not to be caught and for a better life. Gives me perspective,” she adds quietly.
I step forward and the boards creak beneath my feet. Pictures are carved into one of the wooden beams, along with the name ‘Ester.’ “It’s amazing this has survived.”
“It is. There was an old lantern and a schoolbook with notes written in it under the bed. The book is super fragile, but can still be flipped through. And the lantern is on my coffee table. I like lanterns.”
“I noticed,” I say with a smile.
Sierra inhales and gathers her hair in her hand, pulling it off her neck. “Want to get out of here? The heat gets to you fast, which makes me feel like a baby when I think about people staying here for days.”
“I am very grateful for whoever invented air conditioning.”
“Me too,” Sierra says and goes back through the crawlspace.
“Do you do yoga?” I ask, mind going into the gutter on its own accord as I imagine Sierra in various poses.
“I used to. And speaking of air conditioning, the upstairs only recently had the ductwork done to get central air up here. It was too hot most of the time before.” She closes the closet door and her eyes go to a photo on her bookshelf.
It’s of her and Jake.
“I was trying to do most of the renovations myself,” she goes on. “So I could only do a bit at a time since, you know, it’s super expensive to update old houses. But my parents thought it would be a good distraction, I guess, and paid for everything up here to be updated so I could decorate. I like decorating.”
“A distraction?” I ask, though I already know what she’s talking about.
She looks away from the photo. “After Jake died, I stopped doing pretty much everything I used to do.” Slowly, she shakes her head. “It hurt. A lot. And instead of feeling it, I shut down. It’s easier to feel nothing, after all.” She blinks and flicks her gaze to me. “I don’t know why I just told you that. I’ve never told anyone that before. If you want to rethink the whole basket case thing, I don’t blame you.”
I close the distance between us and take her hand. “I don’t think you’re a basket case, Sierra. You do what you have to do to guard your heart. Life is hard. Sometimes the best you can do is survive.”
Her long lashes come together as she closes her eyes in a long blink. “Why do I get the feeling you’re speaking from personal experience?”
“Because I am.”
I slide my fingers up her arm and over her shoulder. Sierra closes her eyes and leans in. With my other hand, I reach behind her, putting my hand on the small of her back, and bring her in so her hips are against mine. Sierra brings her arm up and rests her hand on my chest, feeling my heartbeat.
I want to kiss her.
I want to taste her.
Feel her.
Love her.
“Chase,” she whispers, tipping her head up.
“Sierra,” I whisper back, moving her hair over her shoulder. I press my forehead against hers, getting more and more turned on from her touch as each second passes by. She curls her fingers in, bunching my shirt beneath her grasp. I run my fingers along the skin on her back, exposed from the backless dress.