“Okay, well this is my house, so you should probably leave then. Since there’s nothing I can help you with and all.”
I watch as he removes his foot from the bottom step and peers a little closer at me.
With each passing moment I’m frozen in place, he closes the gap until he’s standing so goddamn close to me that I can feel his hot breath against my forehead.
“What did you say your name was?” he asks, his tone as severe and stern as his eyes.
“I didn’t,” I reply, taking a step back.
“You probably should.”
I scoff as I cross my arms over my chest and look him up and down briefly.
He’s a lot older than anyone I’ve met before and he’s obviously got some kind of God Complex thing going on.
“What’s your name?” I counter, arching an eyebrow at him.
He clears his throat, turns his face and spits into the grass, before giving me his unnerving, undivided attention again.
“I’m looking for my daughter. She in there?” he prods gruffly.
“No. Just us boys and the babysitter inside,” I reply evenly. “So, unless you’re going to tell me who you are, then like I said, you should leave. And if you won’t, then I’ll call the cops and they can make you. Your choice.”
He scratches the side of his face, his fingernails making a harsh scraping sound against the scruff of his beard, before he looks at the door of the house again.
Taking a few steps back, I watch as he raises his eyes to the second story, then shakes his head with a chuckle.
“Yeah, alright. But if you see my kid, tell her that I want her to come back home,” he instructs as he shakes his head and starts to make his way back toward the truck parked out front.
“Well, if I knew who your daughter was, I would!” I call out after him.
He waves me off as he climbs into the truck, then pulls away from the curb after another glance at the second floor.
I’m sick and tired of strangers showing up and forcing their way into our home, and I think Dalton will be pretty proud of me when I tell him that I scared one off.
Milk or no milk.