Gray double-checked the address on the slip of paper on which he’d jotted it. Yep, right place.
A rusty bike lay on its side on the front lawn, but otherwise, the house was tidy, the grass trimmed.
Everything needed a coat of paint, but both the walkway and the veranda had been swept recently.
Acid churned in Gray’s belly. He knocked on the front door. Despite his resolve to get rid of this woman and the anger that ate at him, his pulse beat erratically in his throat.
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