Page 43 of The Secrets We Keep

What a fucking nightmare.

And now, to top things off, we were having a sleepover.

I didn’t say a single word on the way to Macon’s house. Granted, he only lived a few blocks away, so it wasn’t an exceptionally long amount of time to not talk, but I was sure he noticed all the same.

He seemed to notice everything.

“We’re here,” he simply said as we pulled up to his driveway.

I grabbed my things, which only consisted of the toothbrush he’d so graciously gone in to get for me and my purse.

I had seriously considered asking him to grab a few other things, but the thought of him rifling through my clothes to grab me clean underwear had seemed far too personal.

So, I just settled with what I had.

I got out of his truck and followed behind him. I’d only been as far as his porch, having visited him that day he bought the gala tickets. The outside of his house was neat and well kept, the landscaping simple but beautiful.

Kind of like the man himself.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when we stepped inside—maybe more of the same simple, clean style—but what I saw was…

“It’s, uh…it’s not much,” he said, his hand touching the back of his neck in a gesture I’d never seen before.

Is he embarrassed?

The living room was sparse, to say the least. It was clean, which wasn’t surprising, but everything looked picked over, and what was left was sort of haphazardly placed here and there, like a puzzle with missing pieces.

Had he not rearranged anything since his wife had left?

“It’s great, Macon. Thank you,” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I really appreciate you rushing over to help me.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he replied, still awkward. Still unsure.

“Well, I don’t know if that’s true,” I replied, attempting to lighten things up a bit. “I mean, from where I’m standing, I think I’m getting the better end of this deal. You’re working your ass off?—”

“It’s nothing, believe me,” he insisted.

His mood was different here. Quieter, more guarded. Like a whole other version of him existed within these walls.

It was sort of how I thought I’d feel coming back here. I had always thought walking back into that house would be like immersing myself in a bucket of ice water.

Painful and bitterly cold.

But the more I was there, the more I found the space oddly comforting.

“The, uh…the room is just down here.” He pointed to the hallway. “Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Oh, um, no. I didn’t really get to that part.”

The corner of his mouth turned upward, and I could see the effort he made to not smile.

“I’ll see what I have.”

“Do you want help?” I asked, placing my purse on the table. I tucked my toothbrush inside, grateful he had been thoughtful enough to find a plastic bag in the kitchen to put it in.

I was also grateful I’d moved a certain velvet box and put it back in my dresser. Finding a diamond ring next to my sandwich baggies would have been awkward as hell.

“Do I? You didn’t seem too confident around that gas stove,” he joked, though I could still see that shadow looming over him like he just couldn’t quite relax.

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