Page 43 of Beautifully Broken
“Sure.” Her grin widened.
I glared at her, but the heat in my cheeks gave me away. The truth was, I had been hoping to see him. Even if it was just from across the street. Even if it made my chest ache in ways I didn’t really want to examine.
Jordan sobered slightly, watching me.
“You think he’ll come on Saturday?” I asked.
She shook her head, then shrugged. “Maybe."
I looked away, blinking hard. Outside, the sun hit Caleb’s front window just right. Warm, golden. The kind of light that made everything feel alive again. It was a facade. Hannah's death hadn't just taken a toll on Caleb. Their once sunny cottage style home almost seemed to grief with him. I blinked again, shook off the thoughts and turned my focus back towards the reason Jordan and I were there to begin with.
We finished staging the living room in a companionable silence after that. The good kind—the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.
As we stepped back to survey our work, Jordan crossed her arms and nodded. “You know, for an old lady house, this came together.”
I grinned. “We make a good team.”
“Damn right we do.” She paused, then glanced at me sideways. “You ever think about high school? Like how things could’ve gone if Hannah hadn't asked him out?”
I hesitated. Then, quietly, “Sometimes. But he made the right choice. He loved her.”
Jordan didn’t argue. Instead she shrugged and said, “Maybe.”
Before I could say more, she added, “The laundry room smells faintly like cat pee. We need to fix that before the open house.”
I let her change the subject.
Sometimes silence was softer than what came after.
Chapter 5
Caleb
Nacho was yowling at the window like the world was ending.
Which, in his defense, it kind of was. For him, anyway. A blonde in a short blue dress had dared to exist across the street without letting him rub his face all over her shoes.
"Calm down, dude," I muttered, leaning down to scratch his head.
He didn’t calm down.
Instead, he thumped his orange body dramatically against the window, tail twitching like he was watching a bird he couldn’t eat. Which, to be fair, tracked. Nacho had never met a woman he didn’t like—especially Emily Davenport.
I followed his line of sight and immediately wished I hadn’t.
Emily stood on the porch of the Craftsman across the street, chatting with a couple—buyers, probably. The woman was pregnant and already sweating, one hand on her lower back as she nodded along. The guy looked vaguely interested in whatever Emily was saying. Probably too distracted by the way her dress hugged her hips when she walked.
It was a light blue sundress. Thin straps, low neckline, fitted bodice. The skirt flared just enough to flirt with the tops of her thighs every time the breeze caught it. Her long blonde hair was twisted up, loose strands brushing her cheek as she pointed to something around the porch.
She looked like a damn vision. Summer in a bottle. The kind of woman who made men forget their own names.
And I was standing here like an idiot, holding a bottle of water and talking to a cat.
I almost turned away from the window when I heard tires crunching over gravel. Nate’s truck.
Nacho bolted at the sound, launching himself from the windowsill like he had urgent business elsewhere. Probably under the couch. I didn’t blame him.
A knock sounded at the front door.
