to get my own stuff unpacked and my own space under some kind of control if I have any chance of getting—and keeping—my life together.
I decide to start in Aunt Maggie’s closet. Besides all her clothes that are hanging in there—and there are a ton—there are also hats, scarves, purses, and dozens upon dozens of pairs of shoes. And that doesn’t include the boxes full of items she has lining the top shelf that go all the way around the closet.
I start with the shoes, partly because there are so many of them and partly because they’re fun to look through. And we’re pretty close to the same size…
I’m in the middle of trying on a pair of thigh-high boots that I’m pretty sure date back to the 1970s—because why not—when my phone buzzes with a series of texts.
Yanking it out of my hoodie pocket, I glance down at the caller ID and can’t help grinning.
Nick is texting me. He asked for my number before I left the office, and I assumed it was so he could reach me about work.
Nick: Are you busy?
Nick: I’m downstairs. Can you come let me in?
My smile slides off my face. Downstairs? What is he doing here?
After unzipping the boots and pulling them off as fast as I can, I hurry down the stairs to the family room—and the back door that he has been showing up at more and more lately.
The fact that I’ve started looking forward to his impromptu visits has not eluded me. But just because I recognize the feeling doesn’t mean I actually have to deal with it. Denial isn’t only a river in Egypt, after all.
“Hi!” I slide open the back door and nearly swallow my tongue. While he definitely looks amazing in dress pants or a suit, he looks AMAZING with all the exclamation points in ripped jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt. “What are you doing here?”
And why is he dressed like that? Not that I’m complaining, but still. It’s definitely a different look.
He lifts a brow. “I was under the impression that I was being pressed into service. I’m here to help you clean.”
“Oh, right!” I step back to let him in. “I didn’t mean you had to come by tonight. It’s Thursday.”
“Do you have other plans?” he asks, his eyes suddenly intent on mine.
“No, of course not.” Heat blooms in my cheeks. “I guess I just assumed that you did.”
“Nope,” he says with a grin. “I’m free all night. So where do you want to start?”
“I’ve been working in the bed…room…” My voice trails off at the end as I realize what room I just invited him into. And what people normally do there. In half a heartbeat, my bra feels too tight as warm desire winds through me. I clear my throat and will my suddenly out-of-control libido to settle down. “I got started on the master closet a few hours ago, but there’s just so much to get through.”
“Well, then I guess we’d better get back to it, right?” He takes off up the staircase, expertly dodging the piles stacked on every step.
“Yeah, of course.” I start up behind him. “But I feel like I should warn you. Things upstairs are a lot worse than they are downstairs.”
He glances back at me while I talk—which I appreciate, considering it used to take a full tap routine and long periods of nudity to even get Karl to focus on me, let alone with such concern and intensity.
“You okay?” The caring is implicit in the question—and his tone.
It has me ducking my head so he can’t see how much a simple question like that means to me. How long has it been since someone asked me that question? And how much longer since someone paid attention to the answer?
“I’m good, actually. A little sad, sure, but as I’m sorting through all of Aunt Maggie’s things, it’s hard to ignore the fact that she had a good life.”
He smiles. “That’s all that matters, then, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” We get to the top of the stairs, and I lead him toward the master bedroom. “I think it is.”
Aunt Maggie was a hell of a woman. Hoarding, no hoarding, it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of her life. She was the type of woman who wore thigh-high go-go boots for fun.
The type of woman who dyed her hair bright red just because it was August.
The type of woman who glued sparkly glitter all over her face to