Page 208 of Falling for You
‘Yes,’ I raise my eyebrows at her, ‘but you love kebabs.’
She laughs louder this time and pokes me again. ‘Okay, what else? What about your mum, and your brother?’
I force myself to pull my eyes away from her.
‘Stevie was born the most annoying person on the planet,’ I say matter-of-factly, ‘but we’ve always been thick as thieves. Nobody used to laugh as much as Stevie did – his laugh was always infectious. He could get away with murder.’
‘Used to?’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Hmmm?’
‘Sorry,’ she says, shuffling herself on the bed, ‘you said, he used to laugh … does he not any more?’
I sigh. Damn, I hadn’t even realised I said that.
‘Sorry,’ she says quickly, ‘that’s none of my business. I shouldn’t—’
‘No,’ I interrupt, taking her hand to stop her from flapping it around anxiously, ‘it’s fine. I just hadn’t registered I’d said it. I guess he’s just more stressed now … we all are, really.’
I start to let go of her hand when I realise she’s entwined her fingers with mine.
‘Because of your mum?’
I nod, smiling. ‘She’s the best one out of all of us. Like, Stevie and my dad are great, but nobody shines a light close to Mom’s. She’d love this house.’ I use my free hand to gesture around the room. ‘It’s like everything we used to talk about as kids at Christmas. She watchesThe Holidayevery year. Like I said, that’s why I came here this weekend …’ I steal a glance at Annie. ‘I didn’t intentionally follow you home, contrary to what you might think.’
She laughs and shakes her head. ‘I thought maybe I’d planted the seed last time I saw you.’
‘I think there was far too much vodka for that.’ I grin at her and she giggles.
We fall into silence and I lean my head back against the wall, looking down at Annie’s hand in mine. Her nails are orange, with little black pumpkins drawn in the corners. I’d expect nothing less.
‘So,’ I say, giving her hand a shake. ‘You didn’t tell me earlier that you have a sewing room here. I wouldn’t have put it in our dream house if I knew you already had one.’
She smiles. ‘It’s hardly a sewing room. It just has all my outfits in there.’
‘So … like a shrine?’
She nudges me with her foot. ‘No. But yeah … I guess. God, I would never bring a guy back to my parents’ house on the third …’ She stops herself, her cheeks pinching.
‘Can I see?’ I ask.
‘See what?’
‘Your costumes,’ I say. ‘Or the shrine,’ I add, grinning at her.
She looks at me for a moment, then sighs loudly and gets to her feet, pulling me off the bed with her. ‘Fine,’ she huffs. ‘I guess this night has been embarrassing enough – surely this can’t hurt.’ She pushes the door open and looks over her shoulder at me. ‘Come on, then. This way.’
We walk down the narrow corridor and up another few steps that lead into a small, oddly shaped room. The walls are plain, but it’s filled with colour. Rail upon rail of clothes linethe walls, with fabrics folded in different cubbyholes and a bright blue sewing machine sat right by the window.
‘Did you really make all of these?’
She runs her fingers across the clothes, pulling some out and peering at them.
‘Most of them,’ she says. ‘Mum makes them too. We sort of run a business together.’
‘A business?’
‘Yeah,’ she says, letting go of a black lace gothic dress which swings back into place, ‘making costumes for people who want them. Mainly Halloween, but we have orders come through all year.’
