Let It Be Me by Becky Wade (top young adult novels .TXT) 📕

saying that to him loosened the hard knot at the center of his chest.

But as soon as the knot loosened, he’d remember how Ben felt about Leah, and shame would twist his stomach.

He had more than enough to keep him busy here at the hospital. His life should be complete. But it was as if Leah’s reentrance into his world had shined light on the emptiness that had been inside of him for a long time.

He’d been pretending the emptiness didn’t exist and doing a semi-decent job of that.

Until her.

The morning after Leah and Dylan returned to Misty River in late July, Dylan rushed off to see his friends as purposefully as a baby animal seeking its mother.

Once Leah had clothes tumbling around inside the dryer, the fridge stocked, and her suitcase stored in the garage, she turned her attention to her search for her birth parents.

So far, the only thing she’d decided concerning Trina and Jonathan was that she wanted to see them. Live and in person. In order to accomplish that, she needed a current address.

She placed a call to her Misty River real estate agent. After what felt like more than enough time exchanging empty pleasantries, but may not have been enough time (Leah never knew), Leah informed the older woman that she had a question.

“All right. How can I help?”

“Is there a way, using home ownership records, for me to type in the name of a person who lives in a certain town, and discover which house is theirs?” She winced. The question sounded ripe with unpleasant, potentially illegal motivations. Perhaps the opening pleasantries had been wasted on this conversation.

“Are you thinking about investing in real estate?” the agent asked. “Oftentimes investors will want to access to the names so they can send notes to owners, letting them know they’re interested in buying their home.”

“No, I’m not interested in investing in real estate at this time. Maybe someday.”

A few confused seconds of silence passed.

“You can access a seller’s name on MLS,” the older woman said, “which is used by real estate agents.”

“And if the property is not for sale?”

“Some appraisal districts have websites. In that case, you’d go to the appraisal district’s site and search for a property by owner name.”

“Excellent! Thanks so much.”

Within seconds, they disconnected.

Leah hunted the web until she found appraisal district sites for the counties nearest the house where Trina and Jonathan had lived at the time of her birth. Fulton County. Gwinnett. Forsyth. DeKalb. Cobb. And finally, Cherokee. Each time, she ran a property search by owner’s name.

Each time, she found no properties.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she peered through the windows at the comfortingly familiar curves and dips of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

On a fresh wave of inspiration, she swiveled back to the screen. She found an appraisal district database for her own county, Rabun, and input the name Sebastian Grant.

This time fortune smiled upon her.

He owned property at 1248 Black Cherry Lane.

What an excellent house number. 1, 2, 4, 8. Each subsequent number doubled the one that came before. Very promising.

Tomorrow was Saturday, and he often spent his weekends in Misty River. She’d already been planning to go walking tomorrow for exercise. So instead of a hiking trail, why not amend her plans?

She’d walk past his house instead.

The next day she parked a mile away from Sebastian’s address and set out on the three-mile loop she’d charted. Striding at her fastest clip, she started in a neighborhood of half-acre lots. Gradually, the lots grew bigger. Then bigger, until nature surrounded her on both sides. The road plateaued before climbing steeply.

Whenever she had her backpack with her, she kept her phone inside. For quicker, less remote walks like this one, she carried her phone and car key in a band strapped to her upper arm. After a time, her phone’s male Irish voice spoke from that arm band, notifying her that 1248 was coming up on the right.

Male Irish voice was rarely wrong. Which was one of the things she valued about him. She reached over and turned off the GPS.

At first, Sebastian’s house played hide-and-seek between the trees. Leah continued forward until a luxurious modern-day cabin slid into view. Dark wood siding. Stone chimneys. A short central hallway connected the two main wings, the narrow front sides of which faced forward. The wings were of equal width and both had identical obtuse rooflines. However, the one on the left was one story. The one on the right, two stories. Porches spread forward from the bases of the wings, and a balcony jutted from the second-story sliding glass doors.

Manicured grass and planting beds curved between stands of pines. No driveway to be seen, so that must wrap around from a different point to the rear of the building.

It was a fantastic house.

Unfortunately, though, for her purposes, it sat dark and empty.

However, when she walked by his house again, one week later . . .

He was home.

CHAPTER NINE

Even before Leah arrived at Sebastian’s house for the second time, she could see through the foliage that some of his interior lights were illuminated.

Anticipation floated upward within her.

Glass covered much of the front of his house, so chances were good that she’d be able to see him inside as she passed. If so, she planned to knock, explain that she’d been walking by, noticed him, and wanted to say hello.

And he likely wouldn’t mind the intrusion because they were friends. . . . Or friendly, at least.

When she reached the edge of his property, she saw him standing on his lawn, attempting to start a push lawnmower.

“Sometimes I amaze . . . even . . . myself.” The Han Solo quote stumbled like a drunk person through her head.

Sebastian was just yards away. Wearing basketball shorts. And no shirt.

Leah resettled her attention respectfully forward. She hadn’t prepared a plan for this particular scenario! She wasn’t experienced at carrying on conversations with shirtless men.

He didn’t have the self-indulgent, puffed-up body