One Week (Stolen Kiss #0.5) Read Online Free PDF

presumptuous,” he said, leaning his tanned arms on the top of the open door. “What makes you think I’d want to go out with you?”
    I sucked in a breath, stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    He looked me up and down. “Maybe you’re not my type.”
    “Maybe you’re no one’s type,” I snapped back. I realized I sounded like a five-year-old, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
    The guy smirked and then climbed into the truck. He turned the ignition and the truck groaned, but didn’t start.
    I edged closer to the unpainted truck. There were dents and scratches along the side and the back window was cracked all the way across.
    “Just let me pay you,” I said. “You look like you could use the money.”
    Now his easygoing expression disappeared, replaced by a deep scowl. “Keep your money,” he snarled at me as he slammed his door shut.
    I jumped back, blinking at the sudden change in his demeanor. The truck sputtered to life and the tires squealed as he pulled back onto the road, the spinning tires kicking up dirt and rocks toward me. I coughed, watching as he disappeared down the dip in the road.
    Maybe Natalie was right about hillbillies.
    I tossed my checkbook onto the passenger seat of my car as I got back in. I would probably never see the guy again, so it didn’t matter if I hadn’t settled the debt.
    Leaning over the console, I shoved my hand into the tiny space next to the seat and managed to fish out my phone. I drove until a signal bar finally appeared on the screen, and then I called a number I hadn’t used in years.
    “Aunt Lydia?” I said, feeling butterflies erupt in my stomach. “It’s Hannah. I think I’m lost.”

Chapter Two

Chapter Two
    A unt Lydia had downsized over the last four years. The beautiful Victorian home she had owned in Willowbrook had been replaced with a small, single story, red brick home. It was nestled at the edge of the steep hill that rose behind it. Pine trees stood over the house, providing privacy from the neighbors.
    I slowly pulled onto the driveway. Aunt Lydia was sitting in a swing on the front porch, her feet propped up on the cracked wooden railing. I cut the engine off, but didn’t move from the car. I studied her through my windshield. She was older than my mom, but something about her looked younger. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, with strands escaping from the sides. She wore a pink tank top and old jeans, but no shoes on her dirty feet.
    This wasn’t the Aunt Lydia I remembered in the stylish business suits she wore to run the museum.
    She stepped toward the edge of the porch, giving me a hesitant smile, and I climbed out of the car, smoothing my hands over my denim skirt before making my way across the yard. A layer of pine needles crunched underfoot.
    “Hannah,” Aunt Lydia said, smiling warmly at me. She opened her arms and I stepped into them for a hug. I closed my eyes and inhaled the familiar scent of cocoa butter lotion. At least one thing hadn’t changed.
    “Do you have a lot of bags?”
    I followed Aunt Lydia to my car and she opened the back door to retrieve two red suitcases, stitched with my initials in white.
    “Let me guess,” Aunt Lydia said as she looked at the bags. “Your mother bought these.”
    I grinned. “Of course.”
    Inside, the house looked even smaller than it did from the outside. The living room was tiny, and I bumped into a table as I tried to maneuver past the couch. The walls were a soothing sage green, with paintings of mountain scenery hung on them.
    “Sorry, it’s smaller than what you’re used to,” Aunt Lydia said as she carried my bags toward the hallway. “It’s definitely not a big house in a gated community.”
    My parents and I used to live in a smaller house, but then my dad’s bank went national and he was named the corporate president and CEO. My parents decided our new lives in the upper class required a new house that reflected our status, with a tall iron