Page 33 of The Art of Us

Except she didn’t. She pulled out her phone and read an address to him.

Kal felt like she’d kicked his kneecaps. Was she really not goingto tell him anything? Not that she owed him her story if she didn’t want to give it, but over the past couple of weeks he’d told her everything about himself.

Not everything.

He hadn’t told her about Brell.

When Kal made the turn Ireland had indicated, his headlights flashed over the familiar neighborhood.

“Here,” Ireland said.

He stopped and looked at the mini mansion. “This is Mara’s house.”

“Yep.” She took several deep breaths like she was practicing yoga.

“You’re staying at Mara’s house?”

“Apparently.”

“Are you guys friends?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t think I . . .”

“My dad’s in jail. I needed a place to stay. Mr. Wasden arranged this.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I mean, not nice about your dad. Nice of Mr. Wasden.”

“If you say so.”

He wanted to insist that hedidsay so, mostly because her being grouchy toward Mr. Wasden for helping her felt like she was being grouchy athim. “It’s better than—” He almost said that it was better than living in a bathroom but stopped himself since she didn’t know that he knew. “Being alone,” he finished.

“Mara’s a shrew.”

Kal was suddenly positive that Ireland had no intention of telling him about her living in the bathroom in the woods. He was also certain that she would never talk to him again if he revealed that he’d played any part in her relocation to Mara Washington’s house, which hardly seemed fair because Mara’sstone-and-stucco house was more like a manor.Anyonewould want to live there. He searched for something to say but couldn’t come up with anything. Ireland opened the car door. “I better go in. Thanks, Kal. I’ll see you later.”

“Want me to walk you to the door?”

“I’m pretty sure I can manage.”

That wasn’t exactly what he’d asked. He was pretty sure she could manage too. He was asking if she wanted to be with him for that extra moment. He hadn’t been prepared for the resoundingno. “Right.” His hands gripped the steering wheel until his muscles cramped in his fingers. He had thought that the evening would be something fun and romantic. Watching it shatter into a classic disaster had not been part of the plan.

She shut the car door.

He waited until she was inside the house before muttering, “Awesome times zero.”

Chapter Eleven

Ireland

Mr. and Mrs. Washington, or Jarrod and Grace, as they insisted Ireland call them, were sitcom-family perfect. The house was almost museum perfect, all cold marble and warm stone and masterwork paintings. But it wasn’t so flawless that it didn’t look lived in. The house felt very much like a home. Family pictures hung on the walls along with the expensive art. It reminded Ireland of Kal’s house and how there had been little bits of handmade kids’ art alongside the expensive decor.

So that’s what being in a well-off family looked like.

“You’re home early.” Grace lounged on the couch. She looked a lot like Scarlet Johansson, who played the Black Widow in the Marvel movies. Her honey-colored hair was up in a bun and her silky-smooth feet were propped up on the coffee table. Her toes were painted red and looked like they’d just been treated to a pedicure. She closed the book she’d been reading, a romance, if the pink cover art that looked split in half between modern and historical was any indicator.

Ireland checked her phone. 10:28. Shewasearly. She shifted uncomfortably under Grace’s gaze. She wasn’t quite sure what to say about being early. Was that a bad thing? Didn’t adults want children to be early when they came home from something? Maybe they didn’t. She jiggled her head and shoulders in what might have been a shrug but probably came off looking like an allergic spasm.

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