Page 49 of Tell Me It’s Right

“You told me to. Three times.” I set the six pack on the counter and look around. The new countertops, appliances, and cabinets are in. Now it looks like he’s down to installing the hardware and light fixtures.

He shakes his head and opens a bottle. “You missed all the fun. Demo is the best part.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You need a hand?”

I consider myself fairly handy, but it’s nothing compared to Fletcher. His parents do this for a living, and he’s been helping since he was a teenager. He probably could’ve built this entire house from scratch by himself if he wanted to.

He waves me off when I go for the cabinet handles sitting on the counter.

“If you don’t want me to help, why am I here?”

He bends down to screw the handles into the lower cabinets. “To entertain me, obviously.”

At least it’s better than what I was doing before I got his text—sitting alone in the dark shop, ditching sketch after sketch halfway through until I had a mountain of crumpled-up pages lying beside the trashcan, checking the time every ten fucking seconds.

I glance at my watch. 9 PM.

Absolutely nothing significant about that time.

“Li?” I blink back to the room to find Fletcher leaning against the counter, beer in hand and staring at me. “You good?”

“Of course.” I grab a beer for myself and resist the urge to check my phone. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me today.

Fletcher’s eyes narrow.

“So the kitchen looks basically done, right?” I add. “What’s next?”

He stares at me for another second like he’s debating pushing it, but then that easy smile is back as he sips his beer. “Living room next. Bathroom down here is already done.” He nods to the hall that connects the living room and kitchen. “We’re doing from back to front on this floor, then we’ll start on the second.”

I pace through the hall to peek in the bathroom. He replaced everything—shower, toilet, sink, counter. It’s still small, but it looks nice. Sleek, modern. Nothing particularly personable about it.

“So,” he says as I step into the room again. “How are you doing? Heard about the Makayla and Hailey thing.”

“Asher,” I mutter under my breath.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Okayyy.” He lifts his palms in a placating gesture. “Off-limits, I get it.” He slides another few handles off the counter and gets started on the row of cabinets overhead. “Where the hell did you get off to the past few days then?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

I twist the bottle between my hands and ignore the look I can feel him giving me. “So I decided to get out of town for a few days. Get some fresh air.”

He hums. “I get that. Anywhere in particular?”

In truth, it’s a bit of a blur. I started driving that night, figuring I’d get it out of my system and turn around within an hour or two.

But then I just kept driving, and driving, and driving.

Filled up on gas. Stopped at a motel when I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. Then woke up and did it all over again until I felt like I could breathe, then I turned around.

“Savannah.”

Fletcher freezes with his arm midway to the cabinet. “As in…Georgia?”

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