snuck in the house?”
I don’t answer that question but ask my own. “What are you doing here?”
“I . . . I just need some things from the house.”
“Like what?”
“Are you going to let me in or not? I was told the renter was coming home soon, but I’m tired of waiting.”
I stare at her. She doesn’t know who’s renting the place? Damn, the agent did a good job.
I place the key in the lock and turn it until the latch clicks open. I pull the door forward and hold it open for her. The position is reminiscent of our first meeting at Sound Advice. I’d held the door open for her, and she’d walked in with her Nana’s radio. Her hair had been a mess, and dirt had covered her clothing. She’d had a haughty air about her when she entered the space then, and I watch as she struts into this house with that same attitude now. The difference is she belongs here more than she belonged in the repair shop. From the moment I saw her, I knew she’d be trouble for me. I knew I’d never be the same if I got close to her, and I haven’t been the same since . . . because I did get close.
Now, I want nothing more than to pull her close to me and tie her down to this place, but first, I follow her and find her in the living room, staring at the mantel. The old wood has been cleaned up and re-stained. An assortment of frames are positioned along the wood plank. She leans closer to take a better look. I watch as she her pauses a moment when she spots the radio, restored to its original position on a small stand near the fireplace. She spins to face me, only something else catches her eye near the front door.
A coatrack has been added to the wall and a bench with cubby holes for shoes sits beneath it. A pair of work boots for a man. A set of pink sneakers for a child. And a pair of silver sandals tall enough to break an ankle.
“What . . .?” Her mouth falls open, but she stays rooted to the living room floor. “Do you live here?”
I smile slowly, unable to fight the grin.
“That I do. This is my new castle.”
She stares back at the shoes. “How could you live here with another woman?”
“I . . . what?” What the fuck? Is she crazy? Does she not recognize those heels? Before I can say anything further, she’s up the stairs and racing for her grandmother’s old bedroom. Thankfully, the door already stands open, or she’d likely rip it from the hinges. I follow her up the stairs slowly and wait for reality to settle in.
I find her standing in her grandmother’s space, spinning in a small circle. The windows no longer hold lacy ruffles. She removed them herself before she left. Sharp-looking plantation blinds cover the lower half of each window, providing privacy but letting the sunshine in through the top pane. The bed isn’t made. I’m not diligent about that, and she stares at the messy blankets.
“How could you live here with someone else?” Her voice turns vile and angry, and she turns those bright blue eyes on me.
“Are—are you insane?” I stammer out, still in disbelief about her accusation.
“This is my house. This is Nana’s space. This cannot be happening.” She shoves fingers into her messy hair and tugs it to the base of her neck. “I quit my job.”
The air is sucked out of my lungs. “What did you say?”
“I quit my job.” She pauses. “Well, sort of. I gave up the office and said I’d work remotely because I wanted to come back. I wanted to be here, but now . . .” She waves a hand at the bed.
I step close to her, cup her jaw in my hand and force her to look at me.
“You came back?” I stare into her eyes, holding her gaze. “Why?”
She tries to look away, but I don’t let her.
“Why?” I snap, my nerves on the edge.
“Because I-I love you. I wanted to be with you, but I—”
My mouth collides with hers, and I swallow all the words. Whatever ridiculousness was about to come next did not need to be said because she was back. She came back for me. For us.
She picked me.
I lean away, and she glares at me even though her mouth just