That night as I lay in my bed, an awful loneliness set in. It was different from the numb survival loneliness I had gotten used to. This loneliness stemmed from knowing that I had sent someone away who cared for me. Despite all Sean’s flaws, I did know that.
I called Naomi the next morning. When I told her Sean had come, there were several stunned moments of silence before she just said, “Wow.”
And then she chewed me out for sending him away, but I was adamant. I didn’t need added drama in my life right now. And Sean…was drama.
The next few days dragged by as I did my best to sink back into my numbness. It was a challenge. Sean had cracked me open and all my inconvenient feelings continued to leak out, expanding and morphing, making themselves known.
Out of desperation to prove that I was okay, I asked Gemma to take her lunch hour and go out to eat with me. Gemma and I had both been working at the music conservatory for several years now. She was one of the few people who had not only come to Jonas’s funeral but had tried to keep tabs on me since then. We weren’t really close, but I considered her a friend. We both had a tendency to bring lunch and eat in our offices, but after a moment of stunned surprise, she readily agreed.
See? I thought. I’m fine.
Five days after Sean left, I came home to find a moving truck parked outside my duplex. I hadn’t even noticed the for-sale sign going down on the unit attached to mine.
New neighbors. Just what I needed.
Parking quickly, I speed-walked into the house. Idle chit-chat with new people was not something I could handle right now. I stuck a frozen dinner in the microwave and sat on one of my kitchen stools, leaning from side to side, trying to stretch. How could a barely-there baby bump cause so much strain on my back?
Halfway through my dinner, the doorbell rang. I debated not answering it. I was tired. I was in the middle of dinner. Being polite or social was not on my agenda right now. But I also knew that constant solitude wasn’t doing me any favors. So I crossed the room and opened the door.
He was standing on my porch again. After five days, he was back.
He stuck out his hand. “Hi, my name is Sean Amity, and I’m your new neighbor.”
I blinked. “You’re my what?”
“Your new neighbor. I bought the unit next door.”
My brain felt like it was on the fritz, blinking in and out. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you…you…” had a music empire to run, and songs to write and albums to record. And I had told him to go.
“I’m not going to intrude on you, Libby. I’m not here to drive you crazy, but I am here. And I am staying. And my door is always, always open to you. You can walk in anytime. And I hope you won’t mind if I check in on you once in a while.” He dipped his head, his eyes entreating. “Every few days? Maybe just once a week? Whatever you’re okay with.”
I blinked, trying to make the pieces fit. “You’re going to live here?” My voice came out as little more than an incredulous whisper.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“As long as you let me.”
“But you have fans and concerts and deadlines.”
“Not right now.”
“So you’re just going to live in North Carolina now? Just like that?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t believe him. He had done this on a whim—some impulsive grand gesture to slake his guilt, but it wouldn’t last. Because he was Sean, and when I had stood beside him with pride overflowing as he signed that beautiful, promising contract, he had signed away his time and his ability to be a friend. He had entered a life where there was no room for us, only room for him and the music and the people who wanted his music.
“Well,” I said as I sucked down my hope. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thanks…” His brow furrowed at my canned reply.
“Maybe I’ll see you around.” I started to close the door.
“I hope so,” he called out just before it shut.
♪♫♪
The next morning, when I went out to my car to leave for work, Sean was mowing my lawn, a ratty ball cap on his head. I stared for several minutes, trying to make this version of Sean fit into all my other experience with