Page 13 of Pretty Heartache

I hate that he assumes to know me when he hasn’t talked to me since I was a little girl. He doesn’t know the abuse I endured in the fancy house he claims I grew up in.

I clear my throat. “I just mean I’m perfectly capable of living here. A few boxes and broken floorboards don’t scare me.”

He stares at me until a small smile grows on the corner of his mouth. “Of course.”

Spinning around, he heads down the long, wide hallway. My feet land against the matted blue and gold rug, stirring up an oddly comforting, warm scent. Like walking into a bookstore stocked with hundreds of old, aging books. I wrap my hands around my duffle bag and follow Micah into a bedroom. Hescratches at his chin as he surveys it before turning back to face me, and watches me as I take in the room. I drag my finger across the dust coated dresser as I cross the room and sling my duffel over my head before dropping it onto the queen size bed pushed against the largest wall.

“Wait.” I turn to face Micah. “If this is the only room that’s livable, where are you sleeping?”

“Um.” He drops his keys onto the dusty dresser I dragged my finger across. “I haven’t stayed here yet. I travel quite a bit for work, so I haven’t had a reason to stay here overnight.”

“Not even when you’re in town?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head and blows out a heavy breath. “If I do, I just stay in a hotel or at either one of my brother’s houses. Gives me the chance to spend time with my nieces and nephews.”

“Hmm.” I smile, planting my hands on my hips. “At thirty-three, I figured you would be a bit more settled, married with kids… that whole bit. Sounds as if not much has changed in ten years.”

He delivers me another blank stare, the heavy pain returning to his blue-gray eyes. They cloud over, and my heart hammers in my chest, even though I can’t pinpoint the reason. It could be nerves from today bubbling to the surface, or it could be that my comment has crossed a line into the personal zone. Our conversation up until now has been formal, as if he were a landlord showing his new tenant around.

Micah’s dark eyebrows twitch, and his eyes roll away. He slips his hand into his pocket and crosses the room overlooking the front of the house. “A lot has changed in ten years, Addy.”

I cross the room to join him and look out the window, noting the massive houses lining the street, bits of them visible through the bare trees.

“You’re right—a lot has changed in ten years.” I clear my throat and swallow down the memories of being back in Boston, then turn my head and face Micah’s that’s only inches from mine. “No one calls me Addy anymore. Just call me Adeline.”

I leave Micah and stand beside the bed to pick up an old alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. The time is off by over an hour, so I correct it before setting it back down.

“How much do I owe you for staying here?” I ask him.

He moves to stand at the foot of the bed. “You don’t have to pay me.” He leans forward and grips the footboard. “Adeline.”

His muscles strain under the sleeves of his suit. His noticeably deeper voice at the use of my full name has a chill prickling down the back of my neck.

I inhale a deep breath, forcing as much oxygen into my lungs as possible before blowing it out. “I can’t stay here for free.”

“Yes, you can. I don’t need your money, and I don’t want it.”

“I know you don’t need the money.”

“I’m doing this as a favor for Archer. Really, I don’t need you to pay rent. Especially when this place looks like it hasn’t been touched since the revolution.”

I can’t deny that his admission of only letting me stay here as a favor to my brother stings. I try not to take it personally, but it’s hard when I feel I’ve been reduced to the clothes on my back and the belongings I was able to shove into my duffel bag.

“I refuse to stay here without earning my place.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Fine.” He digs into his back pocket and tugs his wallet free. Slipping a black metal card between his fingers, he holds it out for me. “Take this.”

I give him a sarcastic laugh. “How is giving me money letting me earn my keep?”

“I need to get this place fixed up. I have no intention of keeping it.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He shakes the card at me, urging me to take it. “It’s kind of what I do. I buy places with the intention of fixing them up, then sell them at peak market value.”

“Oh.” I frown, looking around the room. Sadness fills my chest unexpectedly. I can’t explain it.

“You can earn your keep by buying whatever you want to fix this place up. Archer didn’t tell me how long you plan on staying. I’m sure you have a life to get back to so if you can’t finish, it’s fine. Just do what you can whenever you have the time. I can take care of whatever is left.”

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