Page 5 of Fragile Hearts

She nods before turning to Daisy, the two of them hugging like it’s the last time they’re going to see each other. Laughing, I climb into my truck, resting my arm on the frame as I call out, “She’s moving houses, Daze, not going off to war!”

Daisy laughs, flipping me off as she says, “Whatever.” We both watch as Sloane now gets in her car, the expression on her face one like maybe she is going off to war. She slams her door shut, and Daisy turns to me, a smile on her face as she says, “Be good!”

With a grin, I reply, “Aren’t I always?”

When we get to my house, Sloane pulls into the drive beside me. Grabbing the box of textbooks, we head inside. “K,” I say, walking over to the dining room where a large table sits. Dumping her box of books, I add, “This is where I study, so you can have the other half of the table.”

“I can just study in my room,” she says.

Ignoring her comment, I continue on, showing her around the large three-bedroom house. She’s familiar with the living room, kitchen, and backyard, but she hasn’t seen the bedrooms. Mine, what’s now hers, and the one Eli and I have always used as a gym.

“And this is you,” I say, opening the door to her room.

Sloane looks around the space, the large queen bed pushed against the far wall, nightstands on either side of it, the double-door closet and the dresser opposite the bed. Her own bathroom is just down the hall.

“Everything’s empty, ready for your stuff,” I say, smiling.

She nods, her eyes moving to the large bay window and the ocean view that fills it. “This…this is great,” she says quietly as she walks over to the window seat.

“It is, yeah,” I tell her. “We can have breakfast on the back deck, it’s even better.” Sloane looks back at me, an unreadable expression on her face that only makes me laugh. “I do it every morning, Sloane, it doesn’t have to be a thing,” I say, winking at her.

She rolls her eyes, glancing at the wall where the dresser sits. “And you’re next door?” she asks.

“Uh huh,” I say, wondering if she’s thinking the same thing I am. Close proximity and none of our friends around. “Make yourself at home, Sloane,” I now say, before I turn and head out to grab more of her stuff.

We work in silence, neither of us saying anything as we haul all of her stuff inside. I’m constantly stealing glances at her though, trying to get a read on what she thinks about all this. She’s got to be thinking that this place is a huge step up from where she was previously living, and to be fair, it is.

I’m also pretty certain she knows that two hundred bucks a month is a fucking bargain, but I don’t care how much she argues with me, I’m not taking a single cent more. This place belongs to my family, and it doesn’t have a mortgage, nor did they ever charge me or Eli rent.

It’s just not what they do.

But I know Sloane needs to feel like this is an agreement, not a favor because if she knew that I was planning to keep her two hundred bucks and give it all back to her the second I thought she’d be open to taking it, she would run a fucking mile.

“Well, I think it’s beer o’clock,” I eventually say, walking into the kitchen to grab some as Sloane disappears into her room. I take a quick pull of my beer before I follow after her. “Here,” I say, leaving it on the dresser.

Sloane glances over at it before giving me a quick, almost-there, smile. “Thanks,” she says as she starts to unpack her stuff.

“Anything I can do to help?” I ask.

“I’m good, thanks,” she says, shaking her head.

A couple of hours later, Sloane wanders into the kitchen. The doors leading to the back deck are open, and the sound of the waves crashing against the beach compete with the low music that’s playing.

“Hey, all done?” I ask, opening the fridge to grab two more beers.

“Yeah,” she says, putting her empty bottle in the recycling.

“Cool, I’m just making us some dinner. Won’t be long.”

“Owen, you don’t need to make me dinner,” Sloane says, twisting the cap off her beer.

“I know,” I say with a grin. “But I still am.” She blows out a breath as she wanders over to where I am frying some chicken in a pan. “Chicken fajitas,” I say when she leans against the counter.

Sloane nods. “I’ll go shopping tomorrow and get my own food and stuff,” she says before taking a sip of her beer.

Shrugging, I say, “Whatever, you’re welcome to help yourself to anything in the fridge or cabinets. Eli and I were pretty casual about it all.” Sloane raises a brow at this, and I laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head.

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