Page 22 of Pretty Heartache

Despite having never truly stayed here, this house represents the death of a dream, which is exactly what it looks like: Death.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I add.

I turn back to Adeline. She doesn’t continue the conversation, allowing us to eat in silence until we’ve both finished our sandwiches. When both our plates are empty, she carries them over to the sink. She gives them a rinse before loading them into the dishwasher, and I try my best to keep my eyes away from those damn long legs and how her shorts ride up the backs of her thighs as she bends, but it’s difficult.

She drops the plates into the slots before she uses the side of her foot to kick the dishwasher door closed.

“Have you thought about what you want to work on first?” I ask, leaning forward and resting my chin in my hand.

“I’m not sure.” She pauses. “Is there a room or a certain area you’ve wanted done or one that’s more important to you?”

“No.” I lean back on my stool and raise my arms above my head. “Not really. You can start anywhere you’d like to.” I loosen my tie, then completely remove it to wrap it around my fingers and lay it on the counter in a neat circle.

I catch Adeline looking out the window at the backyard again. “I think I’ll start with the room I’m staying in. I’m going to go out and get some new sheets and things tomorrow.”

“Not bad.”

“It feels like it’s the easiest task to tackle. That, and considering it’s the room I’m staying in, I think it’s best. Other parts of the house may require a construction crew.”

“They will, and I can get that figured out.” I didn’t plan on getting involved with the reconstruction of the house, but I don’t want Adeline staying here for a long time with over half the house unlivable. I know parts of it can be dangerous.

I stand and push my stool back under the counter, then grab a towel and quickly wipe down the counter, feeling Adeline watching me again, her stare burning a hole in my back.

I stop and I smile. “Let me guess. You think it’s funny watching a billionaire clean a counter.”

“A little,” she agrees, sheepishly.

“Do you not remember the year Archer and I worked at the bar down at the country club?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m sure your father loved that. And mine.”

“Oh…” I hang the towel back on the hook above the sink. “My father loved it so much he had me fired one week from the day I started, which was exactly how long it took him to find out I was working there.” I think back to a few short days of living a semi-average life. “It was the summer before I went off to college. I was eighteen... so you must have been six.”

Wincing, I spin around to face Adeline. She’s now standing in the doorway, leaning against it with her shoulder.

It’s strange looking at her now as a full-grown woman and bringing up stories like my trip to Ireland and the few short days I worked as a bartender.

Adeline’s perfect dark eyebrows arch across her tan forehead. “I was six. No wonder I don’t remember it.”

“Right.” I nod.

The air between us tenses, and suddenly, I feel awkward. Self-conscious, too. They’re foreign feelings.

Adeline points her finger straight up. “I’m going to go take a shower and wash the sheets before I go to bed. I know you said you don’t normally stay here, but are you planning on it, because I can sleep on the couch?”

“No.” I wave her off. “I don’t have any clothes here, anyway.”

I’m lying. I stuffed a few boxes of clothes in the closet of the bedroom the week after I bought this house. I brought them here on the off chance I ever decided to stay.

But I don’t want to make Adeline feel uncomfortable because of the way she constantly lets her hair fall over her face as she tries to not so subtly hide her sad and distant eyes from me.

“Okay, well, it’s your house, so just let me know whenever you want to stay, and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Absolutely not.” I shoot her a glare, sharpening my voice. When she jerks back, I realize how my tone must have come across. “I just mean I won’t put you out. I’ll sleep on the couch or something. Besides, I don’t have your number, anyway, so I wouldn’t be able to warn you.”

“Right.” She nods, wringing her hands while she remains leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and the hallway.

I tug my phone from my pocket and unlock it before handing it to her. She types her number in and calls it.

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