Offer to stay. Offer to stay. Offer to stay.
I nod. “Okay. See you tomorrow then. I’ll bring rings. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She purses her lips together and nods back. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Cooper interrupts the moment by grinding coffee beans.
Fucker.
I glance around again, and this time, no one’s smiling at me.
So I do what I always do.
I leave.
I’ll see her tomorrow. We can talk tomorrow.
When everything’s calm.
Without an audience.
If I can find my fucking balls and be brave.
36
Sloane
My house is spotless.
Cleaner than it’s ever been, and while I’m far from the messiest person on the planet, I’m also not a neat freak.
But it’s nice.
It smells nice.
Like pine and s’mores.
Like Davis himself found time to walk through my house, making sure it was put back together right, leaving behind his scent so I’d know he was here.
Or possibly the cleaning crew used Lysol.
Who knows?
“I’ll fix your painting,” Tillie Jean says to me as she and Max escort me through, all of us making sure the house is empty from the attic to the basement and everywhere in between. “I saw pictures of what happened. Or I’ll make you a new one.”
“No rush. And thank you. And seriously, no rush. Not like… cleaning up was a rush.”
The crew Davis hired did, indeed, leave a list of what they suspected to be missing and what was clearly broken so that I can submit it to my insurance company.
Except I don’t need to.
Davis paid to replace almost all of it himself.
Not that he’d tell me that.
But why else would the broken vase that was scattered on my floor a few days ago now be intact with fall flowers in it on my entryway table? Why else would the television that was cracked be brand new? Why else would I have more glasses and plates than I did when I last slept in my house?
