Page 48 of Rewind It Back

That last sentence feels big and heavy and meaningful. Maybe not to anyone else in any other situation, but for him to say that to me after everything, even if it’s simply regarding his home décor, it feels important somehow.

My confidence builds. “I think there are some cool things we could do to make the home unique to you. Interesting things we can do with art and your favorite music. That is, if you decide to keep the home instead of selling.”

“Could we look at both options? Designs that would be good for selling and ones that would be if I stayed?”

“Of course. That’s a smart idea.”

“Great.” His smile is eager and one I haven’t seen directed at me in a long time.

Look at us working together.

“Would it be okay if I took some before pictures of the house?” I ask. “For my social media.”

“But you don’t have social media.”

The statement is out of his mouth before he can think better of saying it, and the panic written on his face is screaming that he wishes he could take it back.

I can’t hold back my knowing grin. “How would you know? Have you looked for me or something?”

He scoffs. “No.”

My smile grows.

“Well... yeah, maybe I have. Maybe I was curious.” There’s a long pause before he adds, “More than once.”

That armor I try to wear around him chips away a bit, because, for so long, I was convinced he left Boston and forgot I existed.

“I looked you up a few times too,” I admit.

“Yeah?”

“Of course, Rio. But you weren’t hard to find. Famous hockey player that you are now and all.”

His face scrunches up in disgust at the wordfamousand he can try to deny it all he wants, but Rio was the talk of the neighborhood once he got drafted. And not having to hear the town fawn over him while I was heartbroken was the best part of moving back to Minnesota.

I motion towards the stairs. “Will you show me the second story?”

“About that.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, there’s not much to it, and I didn’t make the bed, so don’t judge me.”

I exhale a laugh but it’s simply to cover the nerves. There’s no part of me that wants to think about why his bed might be disheveled or who helped him get it to that state, yet here I am, fixating on that question.

Leaving my latte behind, Rio leads me up the stairs, showing me the two other empty bedrooms and the spare hall bathroom, then to the double doors at the end of the hallway. He opens them and stands aside to let me enter first.

White walls. Gray carpet. Tan duvet cover. Absolutely no personality in his own bedroom.

It’s nothing like the room he grew up in that had bits of him in every corner. Trophies on shelves, photos of his family and friends, posters of his favorite musical artists and sports teams. Endless Boston Bobcats memorabilia.

Any nerves I felt dissipate. There are no signs of another person being in here, at least not last night. His king-size bed is unmade on one side, while the opposite is tightly tucked and unslept in. The nightstand closest to his side of the mattress is cluttered with reading glasses, a water bottle, and Tylenol while the opposite is completely bare.

“It’s...” I search for the words. “Clean.”

“It’s boring, Hal.”

“It is boring.”

“I just...” He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m going to say this to you as an interior designer and not as my...” He drifts off, not finishing that sentence. “But if I stay here, my hope is that one day, this room won’t be only mine.”

He wants me to design the room that he and his future wife might share. Where they’ll sleep next to each other. Where they’ll sleepwitheach other. Fucking lovely.

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