Page 20 of Dreaming About the Boy Next Door

Yeah, thanks, Brain. Wasn’t aware.

But I needed this. Mom needed this. If Rachel had to choose between me moving away or me working with her father, she would’ve picked the latter. That was what I told myself.

As soon as I clicked the send button, the sick feeling in my throat traveled down to my stomach, twisting severely. It was necessary. The more I mulled it over, the more I realized it. In order to help Mom out, to keep her from considering selling the house, this was a necessary evil. It would all work out.

It had to.

“Hopefully it’s not too much work.” Mom’s voice carried into the house from the direction of the front door, her realtor voice in full blast. She must’ve been on the phone. It was early for her to be home—I wasn’t expecting her arrival until closer to six or even seven. “But there are a few things needing fixed. Small things, of course, nothing too crazy.”

I’d put a forkful of pasta into my mouth when a new voice—a deeper voice—responded. “I get what you mean, Mrs. Jenson.”

“Ah, well, call me Kelly, Reed.”

Reed.

I choked on my bite of food, the mush having no mercy as it slid down my throat. My fork clattered against the ceramic bowl as I dropped it, creating a noise almost as loud as my cough. “Ava?” Mom called. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—fine!” I gasped, fighting for some semblance of sophistication for when they walked around the corner, and hopefully not looking like I needed the Heimlich maneuver.

By the time they came into the dining room’s archway, I was breathing normally, but my face burned something fierce.

“Hey, Paparazzi,” Reed greeted with his normal smirk, though it seemed a touch more well-mannered in Mom’s presence. I’d seen him only a handful of hours ago, but he looked different now. He’d changed out of his jeans, wearing a pair of black sweats. His golden hair looked mussed, as if he’d taken a nap since school had gotten out. “Forget how to chew?”

I narrowed my eyes at him before sliding my gaze to Mom. “Why is he here?”

“He’s going to help with some last-minute projects around the house,” Mom said, venturing deeper into the dining room to lay her briefcase down on the table. She unzipped it and sifted around the contents. “I’m booked up with showings and paperwork these next few weeks, and he’s much cheaper than hiring a contractor for these tiny little tasks.”

“I worked summers with my dad at his construction company,” Reed told me like it was new information. He leaned against the archway and folded his arms across his chest. “What are you eating?”

“Uh, pasta.”

“Is it any good?”

I stared down at the overcooked noodles caked in an unhealthy amount of parmesan cheese. “Michelin star quality.”

“So, Reed,” Mom said, finding a piece of paper she’d stuffed in her case, and she pulled it out. “I made a list the other day, but tell me if there’s anything you don’t want to do, okay?” And then she cleared her throat. “There are two treads on the back porch that are rotted. I think Rick replaced them once upon a time with untreated wood, so those will need replaced. There are a few holes in the drywall in the basement that need patched over. Ava’s bathroom showerhead makes this God-awful screeching noise whenever she uses it.”

The corners of Reed’s lips twitched, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked Mom, frowning. “I haven’t heard you talk about any of this.”

“I’m tired of living in a dump, that’s all.” She gestured at me. “That being said, clean your room, you hear me? Deep clean it. It’s starting to get a funky smell.”

It wasnotgetting a smell, but seriously—did she have to say that with an audience present?

Mom looked down at her cell phone. “Oh, shoot, I’ve got to take this. Ava, show him around the house, will you? Show him what needs to be fixed? I’ll be back in a minute.”

Reed straightened as Mom brushed past him, already pressing the phone to her ear. With her gone, Reed looked drastically out of place in the dining room, standing with his hands folded stiffly in front of him. It was like he was wearing clothes that were two sizes too small; the Jenson kitchen was two sizes too unfamiliar.

“Go ahead and finish eating,” Reed said as he walked further into the room. He peered at my bowl. “Isn’t it a little early for dinner?”

“Never too early for carbs.” My politeness came in a belated, awkward nod of my chin. “You can sit down if you want.”

It seemed to be the invitation he’d been waiting for. He slipped into the chair across from me stiffly. The table was relatively free of clutter—a surprise, given Mom’s love for leaving papers scattered everywhere. There was a happy vase of daisies in the middle of the table, hinting at a cheery household that’d been absent for a while. “So, what’s with the home projects?”

“It’s news to me.” I stabbed a piece of pasta. “A lot of things are, lately.”

“Does your dad not have time to fix these things?” He quickly lifted his palms, slouching back. “Not that I care about doing it. Just curious.”

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