The Lost Dom Series

Jones moved in next doo

iting thing that I had seen come down our street all summer. I stood at the window and

ighborhood gift, I decided to bake a pie a

at I had parted into braids due to how hot it was. The braids had loosened and grown messy during my cooking,

n a flimsy oven mitt, I eagerly knocked on the

t looking at him. From the look of him, despite his age, he definitely was not a man to be messed with. However, there was

greeted me, his lips turning

him look much younger and boyish than I knew he had to be. But

"I'm Rebecca Delaney. I li

Noah Jones. I live right h

le spaghetti strap shirt and bright green shorts that I had thrown on to combat the August

" he asked, reminding me softl

with embarrassme

for a moment about the oven mitt underneath it to

d, jerking m

it for a moment before letting the pan drop to the ground. The pie landed upside down on his front steps, destroyed and oozi

in my eyes. I am such an idiot! I thought angrily. I cupped my injured hand t

" Mr. Jones demanded in a deep vo

e sidewalk then refu

ere, girl,"

to my spot on his steps. The look on his face made my

ed your pie," I whisper

dn't you?" He asked whi

not wanting him to see the burn

I don't like to ask tw

is injury wasn't too bad. Having been burned several times before, I knew what bad was. But I could not seem to bring myself to tell Mr. Jones that h

, I laid my hand in his allowing him to inspect the damage. He looked at the finge

a first aid kit in th

, but he wouldn't let it go. He pinne

out in response

at did I just s

out, shrinking back a bit

t, I tried to speak again. However, the words that

low you inside,"

rl," he

e anxiety away and made me happy

ey's had owned it. However, with Mr. Jones living in it, the house took on a different vibe. More... intense, stark, overbearing, yet there was a sense of underlining comfort. A small part of me

swept around the counter and opened a box sitting on the counter, grabbing out a small white

ndle this par

mplied. Once more, I laid my hand in his and watched as he looked

, Mr. Jones still had a frown on his face. With his other hand, he began to touch each tiny scar I

ook, hon?" he asked gently

ed. "I've been cook

scar, a rather nasty one on

t-prone," I told