Page 30 of Sometimes You Stay

“Sure thing. Come on in.”

But Cretia didn’t step through.

Four years, three months, and—Cretia did a bit of quick math in her mind—fifteen days.

It was a strange statistic to have handy, but the running tally in the back of her mind never stopped. It wasn’t like she woke up every morning thinking about the last time she’d been in her mother’s house. Anyone’s house, actually.

But the number was always accessible, the internal clock forever ticking.

Her streak would end when she stepped into Finn’s home. Not a hotel or an inn or a B and B. Just a house. A place filled with a lifetime of memories. A space that would either remind her why she’d chosen her nomadic life or make her second-guess it.

She risked a glance at Finn, who stood at the threshold, his concerned gaze washing over her. But her feet refused to move toward the dim interior beyond the open door.

A wet nose nuzzled into her waist, and she dropped her hand to pet the big furry head. Joe Jr. barked up at her andthen nudged her hip, forcing her to take the first step. And then another.

Finn’s grin grew until it was evident even behind his shaggy beard.

Then she was inside, the warmth of the sun giving way to the relative darkness. Like in the barn, she paused until she could get her bearings, but Joe had no such hesitancy. He charged around her, bounding and chattering like a child eager to show off a new toy.

“Joe,” Finn said. A bite in his tone made the dog still immediately. “Go lie down.” He pointed toward a cast-iron stove in the corner of the living room and a large blue pillow on the floor.

Joe looked up at her with sad black eyes, then hung his head and trotted toward his bed. He circled a few times before settling down, his gaze never leaving her.

Cretia swallowed against her dry throat. “It’s okay. You didn’t need to—”

Finn chuckled. “Trust me. You won’t get anything done with Joe by your side. He just wants to play.”

The dog’s head lifted at the sound of his name.

With a roll of his eyes, Finn walked toward the kitchen. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him a t-r-e-a-t later.”

She checked to see if Joe had learned how to spell while the rest of his litter had been trained for rescue service, but the dog had rested his head back on his paws.

“You’re a good boy,” she said.

Finn had wandered across the living room, past a brown couch and a single blue recliner, the seat flattened and the fabric worn from years of use. “Trying to make a friend?”

“No, I—”

He held up his hand. “I’m just kidding. Joe already loves you. Clearly.” Shooting his dog a faux glare, he said, “I can’t get him to look at me like that. I’m just the one who fills his bowl, plays fetch with him, and takes him on a walk every day.”

Cretia couldn’t hold back a giggle, only then realizing her shoulders had relaxed and her breathing had gone back to normal. After a slow inhale filled with lemon-scented cleaning products, she did a little spin, taking in the room. It wasn’t overly large but boasted an open floor plan from long before the DIY television shows had made them popular. The overstuffed couch and recliner faced the fireplace and its round metal pipe, framing the living space. A colorful area rug beneath the coffee table looked like it could have been made from someone’s sewing scraps, though Finn didn’t seem the type.

A square table made of a dark brown wood and four matching chairs sat between the living room and the kitchen, whose row of hanging cabinets above the peninsular counter were sure to be demolished if any of those reno shows got their hands on this home. Even the appliances were olive green, like something she’d seen on an antiques show.

The house could use an update, for sure.

But it was homey. And clean. No piles of papers or overflowing trash bags or dishes in the sink. Even the hardwood floors beneath her shoes were spotless. Not a sign of Joe’s fur or crumbs around the table. Then again, she only used tables at restaurants. Maybe a bachelor living on his own was the same way. Or maybe Joe made sure the crumbs didn’t go to waste.

She smiled toward the big guy, who had closed his eyesand let out heavy breaths that sent his lips and a string of drool flapping.

“The computer is right over here.” Finn pointed toward a desk in the corner, tucked beside an unadorned staircase.

Ah. This was familiar. This desk was clearly where every wayward scrap of paper went to be lost, stacks upon stacks of envelopes and invoices, bills and Post-its. Whatever sense of organization there might have been had long ago been lost.

The desktop itself wasn’t more than four feet wide and mostly dominated by an enormous square monitor like the donated ones in her junior high computer lab. Her class had been the last to use them before the school upgraded.

Leaning over, Finn pressed a button on the black tower sitting on the floor, and the machine whirred to life, chugging and clicking as the screen blinked and shivered.

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