The Notebook Guy Standing In Front Of House Novels & Stories

EMBER’S POV It’s bigger than I expected — industrial, clearly some kind of converted warehouse, but someone has made an effort to make it livable. There’s a couch, a kitchen area, a table covered in papers and tablets and what look like security reports. Knox is standing at the counter with his back to me, dressed in fresh clothes, his hair still damp. He’s gripping the edge of the counter hard enough that his knuckles have gone white. He turns when he hears me.

I wonder if he's waiting for Kiara? My thoughts stopped when I stopped in front of our SUV. On the side of my eyes, I saw how Rustov walked towards my direction. I faced him, I don’t know if the eye hurts because of drowsiness or what. I stepped back a bit. I looked up at him. Dark eyes widen. Her hair is cleaner now than I remember. His eyes were gentle but it didn't give away his emotions, it was still shadowed. “You left a notebook at home,” he said softly. "You won't take?"

It tastes like 1983 and Giovanni Randazzo's purple ink and the shell company in Luxembourg and the olive trees outside this window that have been bearing fruit for longer than anyone in this house has been alive. I close the notebook. I set it on the table between us, the cover facing up, the bent corners catching the ember-light. It is the only thing in this house that belongs to me, and I place it in the space between my bowl and his, exactly halfway, a territory neither of us has claimed. Domenico reaches across the table.

Through the haze of her panic, she saw him. Adrian was standing five paces away, near the recessed lighting of the nurse’s station. He looked like a statue carved from obsidian—dark, rigid, and utterly frozen. He wasn't looking at the door. His gaze was fixed on the objects in his hands: the black notebook Noah had filled with his final instructions, and the cheap plastic pen that had recorded a man’s last acts of love.

Because it wouldn’t even make a difference if I called or not, and since I’ve hardly ever called him, it wouldn’t be strange that I didn’t. We pull into the spacious driveway, but I remain in the car, talking myself into what I have to do. I’ll go in, get my journal, and get out. Easy. But it‘s not easy. Especially as when I finally step out, something feels off. The house is too quiet, not empty—just still. Like it’s holding its breath. I step inside carefully— And freeze. Nicolas is sitting in the living room, his iPad in his hand, like he’s been waiting.

He asks annoyingly. "I did two and that's too much," I mumble. He stared at me prolonged in silence. I frowned. "You're such a nerd," I grumble pulling the notebook closer. I ended up doing the others to pass time. The guy sitting on my left pulled out his MacBook and I watched him as he punched in his password. He was scruffy looking with brown messy hair and rectangular glasses. Halfway through I tore my eyes away from him, even if I wanted to break into the kid's laptop I wouldn't even bother to. He typed quickly. His password had to be extremely long and complex because he took about a minute to type it all.

I suppose he's a software engineer," she says quietly. After a few moments, the man shuts off his computer and places it in his backpack. He walked away, clutching his backpack. She kept her gaze fixed on the man as he walked away. When she noticed the tiny notepad on the grass that a guy had earlier held, she got up and stretched her legs. She lifts it and turns it around. "Isn't that his notebook?" she said, assessing its appearance and recognizing that he owns it. "Oh no!" she exclaims as she turns her head toward the man ready to enter the automobile.

The warmth that had been there moments ago was suddenly gone. "Where did you hear that name?" The question caught me off guard. "I..." I blinked. "There was a notebook." "A notebook?" "In my room." His jaw tightened. "It had 'Lewis' written on the front." He stared at me for several long seconds before giving a stiff nod. "So...he was the person who stayed there before me?" "...Yes." Something wasn't right. I could feel it. It was here in the way his shoulders had stiffened. The way he refused to look directly at me.

There are three hours to kill and I don't want to be thinking too much of what Sebastian may tell me, it's turning my stomach inside out and upside down. "Whoa, good morning. Didn't expect anyone up so early. Christ you gave me a shock." Nate is standing in the middle of the kitchen looking out onto communal green space our flats have, there is seating down there, trees and a weird sculpture. Don't ask me what because I'm still to figure it out. It is a cross between a bird and a human, who knows what was going on in the artists mind at the time.

He was choosing to believe buried, because the alternative was worse. He noticed her notebook on the desk a second after she cleared the door and since he was already standing, he picked it up without pausing and moved toward the exit, weaving past the last few students still packing up, out into the corridor, which was quiet due to the less amount of students around. He smiled when he finally saw her at the far end, near the stairwell doors, but he also saw who was standing there waiting for her. Lucas Knight He leaned against the wall with his arms folded, dressed down in a way that still managed to look expensive, which was simply a fact about Lucas that could not be helped.