The Devil I Don't Know by LK Shaw

Author:LK Shaw [Shaw, L.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LK Shaw

Chapter 18

Brenna

* * *

I hold my breath like I’m waiting for Jacob to come around the corner and catch me in the act. Except he’s not here.

He’d made me so angry. Then there had been that kiss. I’d almost gone up in flames, it had been so hot. I’d been flustered and aroused, and angrier still, because I don’t understand what’s holding him back. I’m confused.

Most of all, I’m hurt.

I’d followed him up here to—I don’t know why I followed him up here. Because my temper took control, most likely. Mother and Da have loud, heated blowouts that last forever, but once they clear it out of their system, they go back to being a loving couple. My hope was that Jacob and I could do the same. But seeing the tortured expression on his face while he held that object made me pause. I returned downstairs and finished making breakfast.

I stare at the dresser I share with him like it’s a snake. For the last thirty minutes, I’ve tried hard to stop wondering what he’d been looking at. Mother would tell me that no good ever came from snooping. Yet I can’t stop myself. My curiosity has gotten the better of me.

With one more glance to assure myself I’m alone, I open the top left drawer. Careful not to disturb the contents too much, my fingers inch toward the back until, at last, they latch onto a hard object encased in soft fabric. With a deep breath, I pull it out. It’s a burgundy velvet pouch. The faded logo on it isn’t familiar. Taking care, I slide my fingers into the opening and widen it, the strings shortening on either side.

My palms sweat and a heavy sensation grows in my belly. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, I reach inside and pull out the contents. It’s a nearly empty bottle of perfume. Women’s perfume. With trembling hands, I unscrew the lid and breathe in the fragrance. It smells like my mother’s garden.

Why does Jacob have this? Had it belonged to his mother? Something inside me tells me no. Not after the way he looked at it. Unable to stand holding it any longer, I shove it back in the bag and return it to where I found it.

I hurry downstairs like a ghost is chasing me and grab my phone. I pull up an app and punch in some information. My eyes keep drifting toward the stairs while I shift on the couch, unable to get comfortable. I jump up and head to the kitchen to clean what I’ve already cleaned.

That stupid bottle of perfume is taunting me. My mother always cautioned me against my over-active imagination. I’m more than likely making something out of nothing. I bet it’s his mother’s. The two were close, after all. It probably reminds him of her, especially since Francesca said she died when he was only a teenager.

I snatch my phone off the counter and look at the screen. Close enough. Grabbing my purse, I head out the door.

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