The Lake House Read Online Free

lights flashed around her as the bus made its way along the slippery streets: the blue-and-orange clock face in the Custom House Tower; the glow of street lanterns made to resemble colonial candles flickering in glass.
    Forty minutes passed and the van pulled in front of a row of brick townhomes. She dragged her suitcase up the stone steps that had been smoothed by hundreds of years of use and were now slippery with ice. The large mahogany door was heavy as she maneuvered her suitcase into the foyer and then through another door into the lobby.
    Her heels clicking against the marble-tiled floor, she walked to the elevator, only to find that it was out of service. She sighed, picked up her suitcase with both hands, braced it against her thigh, and hauled it up the thirty-five stairs to the third floor, the bag banging against her leg.
    A dark kitchen greeted Heather when she opened the door to the apartment. She turned on the overhead light and sat at the square metal table to peel off her shoes. The black-and-white ceramic floor tiles were cold and she pulled her toes under her thighs to warm them. The shoes dangled from her fingers, and she glared at the fiery red straps. “For how much I spent, these should make my legs look great and be comfortable.”
    Exhaustion weighing heavily on her eyelids, Heather longed for a hot bath with bubbles up to her neck. She wanted to slide into a soft bed with down comforters fluffed over her and curl into warm, protective arms.
    With paper towels, she wiped the slush track her suitcase had left on the tile, then she crammed the bag into a small closet.
    Snorts of contented sleep greeted her when she creaked open the bedroom door. Charlie lay in the center of the bed splayed inall four directions. He turned onto his back, his six-pack exposed above his underwear. With his thick black hair and dark Italian eyes, he could grace the cover of a magazine.
    Three short snores vibrated his throat. She looked at the stray piece of hair that fell over his eye. In their first years together, she’d tuck the strand into place and kiss his cheek. It had been a long time since she’d played with his hair. What had happened to them? There’d been a time when Charlie’s love had made her feel safe, secure, and happy.
    Heather had spent the last six years on planes, in hotels, and exploring the world while Charlie worked as her agent, building her career. When Charlie looked at her, she felt he saw a columnist—another client in the string of people he’d made into products.
    A burp of morning breath escaped Charlie’s lips when she leaned over him.
    “Charlie, I’m home,” she whispered.
    With his eyes closed, he reached for her waist and pulled her onto his body. His free hand moved under her jacket. “Good trip?”
    “Yeah.”
    Stubble chafed her upper lip, and she tried to keep her mouth closed to avoid his sour taste. He pulled at the jacket’s buttons.
    “Charlie, I’m tired.”
    “What’s new?” He rolled her away and turned his back to her.
    A silk chemise hung on the bedpost. She removed her clothes and slipped into the cold garment. Goose bumps dotted her skin. She curled into the fetal position, the thin blanket pulled to her chin. Hot-blooded Charlie couldn’t sleep with a comforter.
    The first night she’d spent in this apartment, Charlie hadleaned against the headboard, her back against his chest and his legs wrapped around her waist, as they ate Thai food. He’d kissed her hair, nuzzled her neck, and told her she was beautiful. Now he couldn’t bother to meet her at the airport.
    She turned toward Charlie and looked at his back. Heather had been away for a month, yet as she lay in bed next to her fiancé, her heart still cried with the need for home.

    “R ise and shine!” Charlie threw open the green curtains behind their bed. The sun illuminated the darkened room with blinding brightness. Heather tried to cover her eyes with the pillow, but he grabbed it away, so