Page 72 of Your Place or Mine

She blinked, eyes confused, mouth still parted from the kiss.

“This complicates everything,” I said.

She straightened. “It doesn’t have to.”

I shook my head. “You’re my landlord. You’re changing everything. And I don’t know how to want you without resenting you for it. And I’m…”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d screwed it.

Her face fell. It felt like someone kicked the floor out from under us just slightly, but enough.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“I didn’t—”

“Youdid,” she snapped. “You just said it.”

“It’s not that simple, Lydia.”

“No, itis,” she bit out. “You want me. But you don’t respect me. That’s what you just told me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

She took a shaky step back. “You kissed me like I meant something, and then you said I’m ruining everything.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s exactly what you meant,” she said. Her voice was quieter now. Wounded. And it killed me.

She shook her head. “I came here to build something. I didn’t ask for you to make room for me. I just needed you not to shove me out of the way.”

“Lydia, I don’t—”

“No,” she said. “You justdon’t want to.”

And then she turned.

Started walking.

I could’ve called after her. Could’ve saidanything. Something honest. Something right.

But I didn’t.

Because I didn’t know how.

So I stood there, useless, my mouth full of regret and my hands clenched into fists as I watched her walk away.

And I realized that somehow, in trying to keep her out, I’d just made damn sure she’d never want back in.

Chapter Eighteen

Lydia

The sound of the paint roller filled the room like static.

Back and forth. Back and forth. A steady rhythm. Clean white paint primer smoothed over old beige, hiding scuff marks, water stains, and cracks that hadn’t been patched in years. It was methodical. Predictable. Something I could control.

Which was why I’d been painting for nearly three hours straight.

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