“Is there anything we can do for her?” Finn asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I can ask her grandma tomorrow at the church.” I start to walk away, but a thought makes me turn around. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Ellie’s doctor expects her to make a full recovery, but my heart still feels heavy. I want to wrap her up in a hug and tell her everything is going to be okay.”
I turn back around without meeting their gazes. I don’t want to see Brady’s pity, or Finn’s concern.
“Meet me in the office when you’re done,” I say over my shoulder as I exit the kitchen.
It takes Finn only five minutes to come find me. He walks in, hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts. I’m standing in front of my mother’s bookshelf.
“Brady’s taking out the trash. He didn’t want you waking up tomorrow to the smell of Chinese food.”
“It does tend to linger,” I say off-handedly, running my fingertips over the worn spines of paperbacks. “Cowboy themed romances were not the books I pictured my mother reading.”
“She didn’t read those when you lived here?”
I shake my head. “She must’ve started that after Ted died.”
Finn walks over so he’s standing beside me. Dipping his head to the side, he begins reading off the titles. “Roping The Cowboy. Taming The Stallion. His Wild Heart.” A soft chuckle escapes his chest.
I laugh with him. “They’re probably good. What the hell do I know?”
Finn lifts his head and turns to me. “Do you still read?”
“Not as much as I used to.”
“Why not?”
He’s so close to me, shoulder to shoulder. The scent coming off his shirt is heavenly. It makes me want to bury my face in his chest.
I shrug. “No particular reason. Maybe I was burnt out after college.”
I grab a box, and Finn loads up his arms with a stack from the shelf. He takes a book off the top and holds it up.
“Why don’t you give it a try?”
I give him a look. “No thanks.”
He holds up the book so that it’s beside his face. “Why not? This dude resembles me. You could picture me as the hero while you’re reading it.” He pushes the book into my hands. “And when it gets to the sexy scenes…” Finn has one free hand now, which means he has five free fingers. And now he’s using those fingers to skim the length of my arm. “You can keep picturing me.”
“Finn.” His name on my lips becomes a plea.
“What do you want, Lennon?”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. There’s another sound in the room, and it didn’t come from either of us.
Brady.He’s standing in the doorway, one hand gripping the doorframe. He clears his throat a second time.
Finn drops his hand. I hold out the box, waiting for him to drop the books inside. Brady strides into the room. He walks to the ancient printer and slightly newer computer, settling down onto the ground and reaching around to the back, where a complicated-looking set of wires snake their way over the carpet.
This isn’t a big room, and suddenly it feels smaller. It’s brimming with unanswered questions, churning with confusion, threatening to spill frustration out into the hallway. If only I could snap my fingers and make it all go away. Avoidance won’t make this all better, but the temporary salve it provides is soothing.
We work quickly and efficiently. The work is made easier by the fact that I’m not planning on keeping anything. When I come across something that belonged to Ted, I set it aside. I have plans for his things.
The doorbell rings and I stand, wiping my dusty hands onto my shorts. “I think that’s good, guys. I can’t take anymore.”
“What about the desk?” Brady asks.
I pause in the doorway. My eyes flicker over to the mahogany desk. Last week that wood was probably gleaming, but now it’s dull from a thin coating of dust. Such is life in the desert.
