“They weren’t listening, or they didn’t believe me.” She leans back and looks away from me adding, “It’s hard to get a word in edgewise with them. They overwhelm me—coming at me from all sides. Three against one isn’t easy.”
“No.” I run my hand down her arm, then back up, hoping it soothes her. “It wouldn’t be easy.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t bother me, but, in this case, it’s uncomfortable silence. I sense a shift. Maybe it has to do with the fact that her arm suddenly tightened—like she’s just realized something.
“I think I should go.” She starts to move in an attempt to slide from my lap.
“Colette…”
She stops moving. “Sam. I’m tired. I’m emotional. I’ve got to figure some things out.” She looks left then around the room. “I should move. Maybe they’re right. I’m too old to live in this tiny place.”
“You want to move?”
She shrugs. “Why not? There’s nothing keeping me here.”
And fuck—that hurt. “You don’t like it here?”
She looks at me expectantly. “Sam. You’re not staying either. Look at you. You’re building your own house. You’ve got your life figured out. You have your own company. I have the kind of job…” She pauses and looks around again. “I could work from anywhere, and yet I choose here.” Colette points at the ground. “I did it to save money, but my rent has gone up three times.”
“Colette … honey.”
“I know.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m sorry I’ve just dumped that all on you. Thanks for helping today, but I’ll figure this out, and everything will be great.”
I hear false bravado in her tone.
“I was hoping we could talk…”
“Not today. Maybe tomorrow.” Slipping from my lap, she moves to my door, pulls it open and stops. “Goodbye, Sam.”
If you think I missed what she did there, you’re wrong. The thing is, I’m not going to correct her. Not right now. Colette needs more time, and I intend to give it to her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Real Estate
Sam
I’ve got a plan. And it happens tonight.
“Hey.” I’m standing at Colette’s door with a smile on my face.
“Hi.” Colette returns the smile, and it appears to be a real one, not one of those half-assed ones she’s been giving me for the past few weeks. The ones she’d give me as she waved just before she hopped into her car to take off or as she was walking to her front door. She’s been pleasant in that way while still avoiding me. There’s been no conversations between the two of us since that day her sisters ripped her a new one. And while I’m on the subject, they haven’t been around either. Her mom was here one day. I know because she knocked on my door to say hello. Other than that, Colette’s side of the place has been Munsel-free for weeks.
“You busy?”
“Uh…” She glances back over her shoulder into her place. “Not really.”
“Great.” I reach for her screen door. “I need your help.”
“Help? From me?”
“Yeah. You.” I look down at her bare feet. “Slip on some shoes. I’ll meet you at my truck.” I turn and walk down the steps at a fast clip. No way do I want to give her time to rethink this.
Standing on the passenger side, I’ve got the door open when she approaches.
“Will this take long? I’m—I’ve…”
She’s full of shit. She’s got nothing.
