“If I’m not out in twenty minutes, rush in.”
“I will.”
“You’d better,” I said, getting out and shutting the door behind me.
Then, it was just the walk up to the very clean, organized front porch. Rocking chairs were perfectly angled. Throw pillows on top were chopped down the center.
Lifting my hand, I shut my eyes. My fist floated midair for a long few seconds. What was it that I was doing here? I didn’t want to be here—that was for certain—and yet here I stood, staring at the obnoxious olive-green door I’d been through once before and quickly made an exit out of after.
I let my hand fall three times.
A few calls were heard about inside the house until the door at once swung open. Celeste paused halfway before extending it farther. She wiped her hand on a tea towel clutched between her palms.
“Hi,” I said, my voice softer than I’d thought it would be.
Staring at my feet, Celeste looked me over with a short sigh. “Would you like to come in?”
Without waiting for an answer, she held open the door, and I stepped through the passageway and inside the home. It opened straight toward the living room and kitchen, much more updated than most of the other homes in Barnett. A crisp wooden beam ran across the ceiling, and the kitchen of the open concept clearly took precedence. It looked like I’d wandered into a farmhouse in the middle of a field somewhere instead of a tall house on the corner of downtown Barnett and the isle.
Dishes and baking sheets were spread along the counter.
“You’ve been cooking a lot.”
“It’s what I do,” Celeste said simply. “Some see it as me, the happy housewife. But it’s my own place to send out the best of my energy into the world. My craft. Estrella also has a bake sale for the National Honor Society. She was recently inducted, so I got a little carried away.”
“Ah,” I said quietly, still looking around.
The sliding back door opened. A man stepped in. Adjusting his thick tortoiseshell glasses, he looked to be about to say something to Celeste before he paused.
“Oh.” Her husband smiled as he turned back toward me. “Is this …”
“This is Luella, dear.”
“Of course. I think we met once before on a picnic.”
“Last year,” I agreed. “Nice to see you again.”
“You as well. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything,” he said to Celeste, never taking his eyes off his wife.
He gave her arm a little loving squeeze before he headed toward the other end of the house. The movement almost reminded me a bit of Ryan.
Then we were alone again.
“That was your husband.”
“It was,” confirmed Celeste. “He works with computers. Forgive him if he was a bit brief.”
I shook my head as I stepped closer to the counter she was on the other side of. He’d seemed nice.
“I really don’t like talking to you,” I admitted.
“I’m aware.”
“I also don’t feel like I should apologize.”
“Nor should you.”
“Right,” I said.
