He furrows his brow thoughtfully. “The one across the street?”
“Across the street from what?” I ask dumbly, wanting him to spell it out for me.
“Oh, across the street from mine, I mean.” He’s the one who looks self-conscious now. “That’s where I saw your mom’s car parked, at least.”
Did you also scan every parking lot for my car, for my mom’s car, after we became strangers?
“I didn’t know you lived there. When did you move in?” I resist the urge to bite my nails as I wait for his response, wondering if the desperation to know him is emanating off me in cartoon heat waves.
“About two and a half years ago,” he says, staring at Grom as he gets up to bowl and then cheering for him as he gets another strike.
Two and a half years ago?He would’ve been barely twenty, moving into a nice house in downtown Seabrook.
“Did you…” I start, trying to figure out a way to ask without prying. “Did your parents sell the other house?”
“No.” He runs his hand up his shoulder, messing with his shirtsleeve. I notice the muscles in his shoulder as he presses his arm into the leather between us. “They still live there.”
I nod, but I’ve only become more confused.Did he buy the house? Did his parents buy it for him? Or is he renting with roommates?
“How many roommates do you have?” I ask, taking a sip of my lemonade.
“None.” He looks at me.
I stare at the hue of his mauve lips. I wish mine were that color naturally. I rub my lips together self-consciously. I see him notice.
“Oh. Cool,” I manage. “That’s nice, then. Living alone. Having your own space.”
Am I usually this bad at conversation?
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s okay.”
I nod to show I’ve heard him, then swivel my head to Sonia, who needs something more sophisticated than bumpers if she wants to hit more than a single pin. The people around us “ooo” and “aww” in sympathy as the ball discards itself into the gutter yet again.
“Will you live in it?” he pipes up, now looking at me like he’s desperate for me to share something. Or maybe I’m imagining that he is.
“The cottage?” I repeat as I figure out how much to share with him.
“Mm-hmm,” he confirms.
“No,” I snap. “No, I’m leaving in September.”
He looks at the scoreboard again and I wonder if he heard me.
“Why?” He returns his ivy-speckled eyes to me.
“Consulting job got deferred, remember?” I did tell him this, right?
“Yeah, but…” He pauses, seeming to think for a second. “Now you have the cottage. Why not stay?”
Why would he want me to stay? Especially when it’s directly across the street from him?The depraved part of me starts reading into his words like they’ll provide what I so desperately want.
“There’s not much left for me in Seabrook,” I reply.
He stares at me.
A beat.
Two.
