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“Sorry to call in response to your text but my hands are covered in icing.” Harper grunts.
“Stop. You know I don’t mind calls from my friends.” She snorts, knowing that’s a stretch. “So, did that help?” I ask her as I hold one small box in the crook of my arm and open the heavy door with my other hand.
“It did, you’re a genius. Such a small change, no one noticed the fifty cent price increase, and the quality is the same with the new supplier.” I smile at Harper’s excitement. “You told me, just fix the bestsellers. You were right. Gen. ius.”
“It’s not me, it's just the numbers—oh.” I stop in the kitchen and almost drop the box. I used the garage door opener thatshowed up in my mailbox with instructions. I did as I was told. Drove home from work, pulled into the garage, then let myself in through the unlocked interior garage door. A few steps into the little back hall and then…this.
“Janie?”
“I…I’m at the house.” I whisper.
“Why are you whispering?” She whispers back.
Because I’m…speechless? It’s gorgeous in here. The house is not new and the exterior is a bit log-cabin-y, like most of the fancy mansions here. People vacation here in the fall, so houses are built to rent. And people want to rent the fall vibes.
I expected the house to be big, because, duh, billionaire. But I also expected it to be outdated and woodsy here in this showy, old-money section of Juniper Falls that overlooks the lake.
I was dead wrong.
Not only is everything updated with modern lines and large single-pane windows for days, everything is…
“Pinterest.” I say aloud.
Harper is still whispering, “Huh?”
“He must have looked at my Pinterest. That’s how he did the cubicle and that’s how he, er, his decorator, did this house. I mean, I think those are the actual light fixtures from this one Dream Home Giveaway house I’m obsessed with.”
“You’re obsessed with a house?”
I grimace, “I was trying to get inspired to D-I-Y Gran’s place.”
“Ohhh,” she buys my answer. It’s not a lie. It’s true, partially. The unsaid part is that I’ve always dreamed of ahomehome. We had Gran’s house but it was already falling apart when I was old enough to be embarrassed about it. I was in elementary school when I started to notice friends’ homes and cars and, really, their families. I think all kids get kind of Norman-Rockwell-Family-obsessed when they come from the opposite reality.
In adulthood, I’ve had New York shoebox apartments. Roommates andjust until we can afford bettertownhouses. Then Theo’s place.
Once I started scrolling on Instagram and Pinterest for Gran’s place I started to dream again about my place. Home. Someday.
And now I feel like I just walked into it.
“So, it’s nice?” Harper asks since I’m walking around in silence.
“No,” I laugh. “It’s incredible. But it’s not that, it’s, well, it’s just so…me. I mean, even with the massive windows and light wood, it’s still moody and cozy, blankets everywhere, rich colors, even the fireplace is on. Who came in and turned on the fireplace?” I ramble out loud.
Harper is smiling, “That’s great! Then it’ll be nice while you have to live there with him, right?”
Oh.
Right.
I have to livewith Benedict.
For a while, and then he’ll be gone and I’ll be back to…cleaning up all the messes I made. I got another text about said mess today. I abandoned my lunch after that. Another wasted meal.
This is his place, and it’s temporary.
It’s not my place. Not my home.
