“What the hell are you doing?” I laugh. I startle her, and she hits her head on something inside the small structure. She backs out and stands up while rubbing at her skull. Her hands are covered in dirt from being on all fours just outside the playhouse. Her jeans have mud patches on the knees from the damp earth. She continues to rub at her head where she bumped it, and the action makes her hair swirl all over. It’s standing up in places and falling loose from her ponytail.
She’s a hot mess.
And so fucking beautiful.
She stands there staring at me for a moment before she speaks. “I need to get into the house. I heard someone rented it, and the rental office is acting suspiciously about it. I’m exerting my right as the owner to order a cease and desist.”
This isn’t exactly the reunion I’d thought we’d have. I want her to rush into my arms. I want her to tell me she’s here to stay—not to visit, not to inspect the house.
“I’m not certain that’s a thing with renting.” She’s smart enough to know this, but she looks frantic. “So what were you doing in the playhouse?”
“Looking for a spare key.”
I raise my brows in question.
“I gave the rental agency the original and left a copy with Sue. She won’t let me have it. I don’t have another spare. I thought there might be one in here.”
I nod, and then cross the yard to the screened-in porch.
“Jess,” she calls after me, following me. Her voice is a mix of frustration and stress as though I’m walking away from her instead of leading her to what she wants.
Does she want the house back?
Will she kick out whoever lives here?
I reach up to the lip of the frame of the back door, pull down the key, and hold it out for her. She reaches forward for it, but I hike it a little higher, just out of her reach.
“How did you know that was there?”
“It’s a small town, Emily. Everyone has a spare key somewhere.”
Her eyes narrow on me. “Is that how you 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 gave in to mine.
“You can’t kiss me like that if you live here with another woman.”
“Oh, I live here with another woman alright,” I tease, and her eyes narrow to slits. “She’s a real beauty. Blonde and slim. Blue eyes and smart. She’s a real princess.”
The angry energy vibrating off Emily almost electrocutes me. I can’t wait to get her in this bed and spark when we connect.
“I hate you,” she says as a tear slips from her eye.
“You just said you loved me,” I remind her, smiling at her like the mean bastard I am. “Besides, the other woman is only six. I think she’ll understand.”
The silent pause weighs heavily between us until reality settles in.
“But the sandals . . .” she whispers.
“They’re yours, babe. Did you forget about them?” They’re the shoes I kept the night I walked her home. Maybe she did forget. Maybe they didn’t mean anything to her.
“Why are they by the front door?”
“We’re waiting for Cinderella to come home.”
She stares at me. It takes a minute before my implication hits home.