As the theme song played, he looked around the cramped apartment and voiced "Your house is not what I expected."

I tilted my head at him and questioned "What did you expect?"

"Something more Ella."

Preparing myself for a smart comment from him, I frowned as I questioned "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Even your bedroom walls are plain." He uttered lowly with a rough sigh "I thought you would have something more green."

"Yeah. I hate my bedroom." I told him in agreement "I plan on painting it but I haven't had the chance. I can't reach the whole wall."

"I am surprised you can reach the door handle with your tininess."

I grabbed the pillow from behind his back and launched at his chest. It did not do anything damage. It only bounced off him and landed somewhere on the floor.

"You infuriate me." I bit out as I crossed my arms.

His lip quirked up as he looked down at me glaring up at him.

All the amusement drained from his expression, and it was quickly replaced with a more serious emotion as he demanded to know "Why don't you get your dad to paint your room?"

"I told you why." I swallowed down the truth and bit out the lie "He is in Uruguay."

My words caught his attention because his eyes frantically scanned my face. His dark irises pierced and penetrated my soul.

"I thought you said he was in Paraguay." Stone murmured so lowly that it came out as more of a growl.

"Same thing." I quickly blabbered out before I sent a silent apology to the people of South America.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked away from me and down at the ground. He looked to be deep in thought as he scrubbed a hand along his stubbled jaw that was ticking in an angry rhythm.

A few minutes passed and neither of us spoke. We each took turns glancing at each other.

"I was not shocked when I saw all your books in your room, little nerd." He remarked to change the subject "Your whole floor was covered in them."

I ignored his name-calling and decided to be a proud bibliophile as I replied, "I do love books."

"Is Edgar Allan Poe your all-time favourite?" He questioned before adding "It was on top of your pile, and it looked like it had been read a few hundred times."

"Try a few thousand." I confirmed "The poems and the short stories are some my favourites. I reread them like every week."

Stone chuckled at my enthusiasm before he questioned "Which work by him is your favourite?"

"That is like asking a mother who her favourite child is." I joked before I answered his question properly "I really like The Tell-Tale Heart."

"Is that why you let me in?" He challenged, his dark eyes continuing to search my face "To kill me and keep my heart under your floorboard."