“Beige, as promised,” Brandon says, brushing the walls as if to checkthey’re dry.
That’s when I notice the faint smell of new paint.
He must have worked around the clock to finish this.
“Brandon, this is too much…”
He sighs. “I knew it. Beige can be quite overwhelming, can’t it?”
“Funny,” I mutter. I’m about to say that he shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for me, but he’s already returned to the hall.
It gives me a moment to realise how presumptuous I’m being. Much as I love the flat, I’m only here temporarily. He would have chosen the decorations with future holiday guests in mind.
It makes me even more aware that he’s not charging me to stay here. While I’m grateful, it also makes me uncomfortable.
I step back into the hallway, my heart ticking faster. “Brandon? I probably should have clarified when I was back in Australia, but…how come you’re letting me stay here for free?”
His brow furrows slightly, and I rush to fill the silence.
“I mean, this flat is amazing. Beautiful and modern, with a seafront view…basically right on the beach—”
“Not quiteon the beach. You’ve got to cross the road.”
“Seriously.” I gesture around me. “It’s coastal meets Hogwarts meets Beauty and the Beast.”
“That’s a lot of pop culture.”
“Most people would kill to stay in a place like this even for a weekend. And you’re just handing it over for the summer?”
It doesn’t make sense. I expected something smaller, simpler, less picture-perfect. This flat is begging to be on Instagram. His lip quirks, and I hurriedly add, “I know you were friends with my dad, but even so—”
“There’s more to it than that.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
My smile falters. “Will you tell me? Please?”
The shift is small, but I feel it, like the room exhales. He leans back against the wall, gaze drifting past me to the balcony where rain speckles the glass door.
“I owe your father more than I could ever repay,” he says quietly.
A hush falls at the mention of my father. What began as a casual conversation is now a doorway to something deeper.
After a pause, I ask, “What happened?”
“I lost someone once, and it nearly broke me. Her name was Natalie. He got me through it.”
“When you say you lost her…”
“She died.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” I take a tiny step closer, then draw back. “Was she your partner?”
He nods. “At one stage, yes. We dated for a time, until it became clear we weren’t right for each other. She died a year after we split up.”
We fall silent. He watches the rain, sleeves rolled, profile sharp in the muted light. Serious and self-contained.
With his gaze turned away, I let myself study him—the thoughtful brows, the strong line of his jaw and prominent nose, the way his shirt pulls when he shifts. There’s an intensity in his stillness that draws me in.
