Page 101 of House of Desire

Who would have thought it would be Brittany in my house and not Anya.

I pick up my phone and send a text to Anya wishing her a good morning and asking if we can talk.

The smell of coffee and bacon meets me as I make my way down the hallway away from the sleeping quarters of the house.

“What are you wearing?” One of my old, long-sleeved winter shirts hangs off her body, hitting right below her ass. Her legs are toned and bare.

“Oh,” she says, looking down at herself before turning her attention back to the eggs she’s scrambling on the stovetop. “I hope you don’t mind. I got cold and looked in the closet for another blanket. I didn’t find one, but I found a box labeled winter clothes. I guess you probably don’t need those much here.”

“I do mind. Extra blankets are in the chest at the end of the bed.”

“Just like our house,” she says, smiling.

“It’s convenient for guests.”

Her cheeks turn a slight pink as she grabs a bowl from beside her, putting the eggs on it. On my island sits pancakes and bacon, along with a pot of coffee.

“I made breakfast,” she says, stating the obvious as she sets the bowl next to the other plates. Steam rises off of everything. “There’s coffee. I know how much you need your coffee first thing in the morning.”

I look at the spread and despite the effort I see she put into the meal, I get angry.

Angry at her pretending like this is normal.

“I don’t drink coffee anymore,” I say, pettiness rising up and lashing out. I’m not proud of the small amount of hurt I put in her eyes, but I can’t seem to accept her gesture.

“I see. The grounds must have been for your girlfriend, then.”

I don’t respond. She doesn’t need to know anything about me and Anya. It’s not her business. Not anymore.

“I’m going to work,” I say, stating the obvious. Even without morning meetings, I’d rather be at the office than in this hellish situation. “When you leave, go out the garage. There’s a panel on the left side when you look at the house from the driveway. Press the enter key and it’ll shut the door. Remember, you said only one night.” My tone is brusque, but I just don’t care. Anya hasn’t texted me and I know it’s a direct result of the woman across from me.

Not only did she break my heart, leaving me a husk of myself, now, when I’ve finally found someone I can feel myself falling for, she pops back up.

“I remember,” she snaps, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up, showing me she’s going bra-less this morning. In another life, that would have been enough for me to go to her and take her on the island, but now it does nothing for me. “Are we going to talk about what I said last night?”

“No.”

“Okay. Are we going to talk about everything that happened back then?”

“You don’t get to dictate this. You left. Not me. Leave your number on the notepad on the side of the fridge. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk. One more day without answers after ten years won’t matter.” I can feel my temper rising and I want to get out of here before I say something I regret.

My phone vibrates and I check it immediately, but it’s just my ride share telling me they are outside the house.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I say in goodbye, heading for the front door. As I shut it behind myself, I see my truck still in the driveway.

My heart begins galloping thinking Anya is here, but when I look around, she’s nowhere. The driver of my ride honks and I flash him a one moment signal. As I turn to lock the door with my spare set of keys, my foot bumps the ones I gave to Anya last night.

Squatting down, my joints crack like I’m a thousand years old. The metal is cold against my overheated hand. I wave off my driver, getting a double middle finger before he pulls away.

I look down the street like I can see the ghost of Anya leaving.

Every mile I drove into the office, I got more and more disappointed Anya didn’t take my truck. I wanted a reason to get her to see me without me showing up at her bakery.

“What’s your problem?” Mitchel asks as I stomp to my office, a warm coffee cup in my hand and a bag of fast food breakfast.

“Brittany is here.”

Mitchel’s eyes go wide as he follows me into my office, shutting the door behind him. He left for college after we graduated and wasn’t there for the whole horrible thing, but on a few drunken nights, he definitely heard a story or two.

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