“Yeah, I agree. She’s very quaint, but… very nice,” I call to his back as I sink into the living room couch. “So, you don’t see any glaring problems with it?”
“Eh,” he says, voice calm. “Minor touch-ups are probably the only thing you’d need, but they seem mostly cosmetic, which is awesome. The foundation seems sturdy, and I don’t feel any uneven spots. All the doors are opening and closing smoothly. That’s just my opinion from the naked eye, though. You’ll know for sure after getting the inspection done.”
That eases the pressure in my chest a little.
“Right. The inspection,” I repeat, my obvious lack of knowledge revealing itself.
“Oh, that stuff is easy. I can help you out.” He slides the doors to the laundry unit closed and joins me on the living room couch, weight shifting the cushions as he plops down beside me. He throws his arms out, draping the back of the couch, careful not to graze my shoulders. “So, where’s your head at?”
I stare at the TV in front of me, trying to ignore the way it feels like an invisible wall of heat is lighting up the skin on my back where his arm hovers, just a slight lean away.
“My head is all over the place if you want me to be honest,” I say, dread lacing my voice.
“And I do.”
I glare at him facetiously and then look back at the coffee table in front of me, wondering if Lottie’s hands touched every item decorating it.
“I mean, this place is beautiful, obviously. Seabrook is beautiful. And now I have a house here that is truly unbelievable. Like in the literal sense. I-do-not-believe-this-is-real-yet, unbelievable. But I’m not taking it for granted. At least, I think I’m not taking it for granted.” I exhale. “It just wasn’t what I planned. Throwing away everything I’ve worked for the past four years feels reckless to me. I’m trying to figure out if I can feel what I thought I’d feel there, here.”
Declan is silent, and the moment I decide to look at him, I know it’s a mistake.
His eyes are deep pools, and I’ve jumped in. I feel the panic of my feet not reaching the ground.
“I get that.”
His words land in my chest with a satisfying click like clock hands overlapping at midnight. He practically spent his entire life working for a career he never got to achieve. He never planned on staying in Seabrook, and yet, here he was.He probably understood what I was feeling in this moment better than I understood how I was feeling. Our eyes hold for another beat, and I can see him contemplating something. I see the moment something shifts, and he decides to speak.
“Is it okay for me to admit that I’m really glad you’re back?” he says in a voice so low it rumbles.
My body buzzes, taking note of his shoulder an inch from mine. My eyes frantically search his face, looking desperately for a clue as to why he would say that. But all they find is anguish, written in the lines by his eyes as they search mine pleadingly, waiting for my response. My mouth goes dry.
“Can I admit something, too?” I say so quietly he has to lean in.
He nods infinitesimally for me to go on, but I bite my lip, not ready for how the air would change if I said what I wanted to.
“You can say it, Blair. I probably deserve it,” he urges. The last part is so soft, I think I’ve imagined it.
“I—” I exhale, frustrated before I’ve even begun. “I think part of me wants to stay. Just not if—”
“Hi! Hi!” A shrill, high-pitched voice calls as the front door swings open.
Declan stands up slowly, putting room between our bodies on the couch like we weren’t just veering toward territory we’ve avoided for years.
“Oopsies! Already unlocked,” she says with a laugh, wiggling the key out of the door. Her blond hair reaches the top of her skirt as she walks through the living room, one stiletto-heeled foot at a time.
At once, I am very grateful that I asked Declan to be here. My mind can’t think clearly through the fog of ancient desire and grief coursing through my body.
She struts up to us at the couch, hair swishing back and forth, texting furiously with long, neon yellow manicured fingers.
“I’m Emily!” she says, mouth parting into a grin as she shakes Declan’s hand.
“Declan. Nice to meet you.” He gives her a closed-mouth smile. It accentuates his dimple. “And this is Blair. The one this home actually belongs to.”
I give her a distracted nod.
“Oh! Perfect. Well, nice to meet you guys. Since I can see that you’ve already taken a look around, I’m assuming this meeting is because you’re ready to put it on the market?”
Put it on the market? The words were a concept I’d heard before, but I couldn’t process that the question was being directed at me. My mind was still muddied by the shock of her death and the existence of this house. How was I supposed to decide like it was a game of rock, paper, scissors? Wasn’t there a rule about not making big decisions for six months after a life change?
