Watching her wrestle it under control—full, pink lips, a small dent in her left cheek—was not easy.
It was a goddamned impossible delight.
“Marian likes a conspiracy theory,” she finally said.
“I gathered. She thinks I did something illegal for the permit.”
The almost-smile dropped from her lips. “Did you?”
“No. I had some help. A friend of mine keeps a few properties like this.” He wasn’t exactly sure if it was fair to call Sally a friend, but last night when she’d texted to ask him whether he’d gotten started yet, she had included a selfie with the hotel’s buffet spread as a backdrop. That seemed friendly.
Nora rolled her eyes. “Of course. Is that your plan, to make a business out of this? Any other property-related inheritances you’re expecting?”
“No. I didn’t expect this one. I told you, I didn’t know him well. I’m as surprised as you all apparently are about it.”
She furrowed her brow, crossed her arms over her chest, looking around again. She’d talked a good game the other day, about Donny being a member of this family she kept talking about, but seeing her now, he had to wonder. Her eyes kept landing on things—that box on the recliner, the stack of newspapers beside it, the black-and-white photograph of Wrigley Field hung above the flat-screen television—like she was looking for answers.
“Aren’t you curious?” she asked, her eyes coming back to him. “I mean . . . if you didn’t know him. Aren’t you curious why he left it to you?”
He shoved a grubby set of dish towels into the Toss box, keeping his head down. Curious wasn’t the right word. He was frustrated, full of resentment. Being curious about Donny felt like a concession, and he didn’t want to concede anything.
“Not really. And even if I were, he’s not here to answer my questions. Not much use dwelling on the past, I’ve always thought.”
She wrinkled her brow. “That’s going to be pretty impossible, for a while.”
“What’s that mean?”
She took a step forward, peered into the box Jonah had dropped off, then moved again, past the recliner and closer to where he stood, by the long kitchen counter that overlooked the living area. Her eyes ran over the space—the pots and pans he’d pulled from the cupboards below, the few stacks of dishes he’d managed to take down from the ones above.
“It means you’re surrounded by the past. His past, specifically.”
He swallowed, his neck heating. He thought of the haul-away companies, the cost of their most comprehensive packages. If he could’ve afforded it, he would have had them in here sorting through all this, leaving him well out of whatever was in Donny’s past. He didn’t want any part of it.
“I’ll move quickly,” he said gruffly, and then he looked up at her. “If you’ll let me.”
She turned her face from him, looking back over the living room, toward the door that led to the balcony. He liked it, seeing her profile—the slope of her nose, the angle of her jaw, but also the curve at the back of her neck, exposed to him thanks to that ponytail.
“I thought you might change your mind.”
Her voice was quiet, like she was telling him a secret. Like he was on that balcony again, waiting for her voice to filter down to him. The truth was, he was probably at great risk for changing his mind, if only she kept talking to him this exact way. If it was dark and they were alone. If Donny had nothing to do with it.
She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, she’d stripped the softness from her voice. Easier, he told himself. “After, you know. You met everyone. It’s real people here, in this building. It’s not an investment property.”
“Real people have investment properties. I’m a real person.”
She looked back at him, her eyes narrowed. “You’re missing my point.”
“Am I? What’s your point, then, Nora?”
She made a noise—a quick, frustrated exhale that was almost this side of a groan, and . . . yeah. It made him the exact opposite of easy. He caught one side of his cheek between his teeth and bit down. He said it like a chant in his head—easy easy easy—and tried to feel a sense of victory when she gave up, dropping her eyes and turning to go.
He couldn’t really explain what happened next, except to say that once again, his instincts failed him. If she was going, he’d walk her to the door.