“Okay,” she calls. “See you when I get back.”
I wait for her to emerge and give me a hug goodbye—after all this is amonthwe’re talking about, not a long weekend—but she doesn’t. Disappointment flares in my chest, and I move toward the door, wondering how I can possibly mend this bridge between us when I don’t know why it’s broken.
Leaving my sister behind, I step into the hallway. My eyes land on a door opposite the master, a door I’ve never noticed before, and curiosity gets the best of me. Wondering if it leads to another guest bedroom—that would make three—I walk across the hall and peek inside.
The first thing I note about the room is that it’s a completely different vibe from the rest of the house. The walls are a dark, dusty blue, the couch is a vivid rust, and the massive desk is a rich mahogany. The multi-colored rug in the center of the floor pulls together all the different colors, and the long desk is home to some fancy-looking computer equipment, as well as neat stacks of notebooks and papers. It’s more of a “study” than an office, complete with a globe and an entire wall filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
My eyes roam over the dual diplomas hanging behind the desk, one from Stanford and one from Georgia Tech, making it clear that this is Landon’s space. My gaze catches on the rumpled comforter thrown across the couch, along with a feather pillow and a stack of folded clothes beside it. Something clicks, and a strange thought creeps into my head.
Do Mel and Landon sleep in separate rooms?
Because judging by this space, that’s sure as hell what it looks like. I’ve just moved further into the room, searching for more clues into their strange relationship, when a door slams downstairs. I jump and dash back into the hall, doing my best to calm my racing heart. The last thing I need is for Landon to find me snooping around his space.
We have enough problems as it is, and with Mel leaving, we’re bound to discover a few more.
EIGHT
Mel’s absence isn’t as awkward as I anticipate, and the next few days pass quickly and without incident. With Landon’s weird schedule, I basically have the house to myself, which means no uncomfortable run-ins or unnecessary confrontations, thank God.
On Wednesday evening, I’m tucked in bed with my laptop open on my stomach when the garage door rumbles earlier than usual, signaling Landon’s return. I should ignore it and focus on my show, but I have a theory that needs testing.
Pushing my computer to the side, I creep across the carpet and press my cheek to the door of my room. My ears strain as I listen for the sound of Landon’s footsteps on the stairs. They’re always surprisingly light for someone so tall. Whenever I clunk up the staircase, I sound like an overweight elephant, though that could be exhaustion weighing me down from being on my feet all day.
It’s not long before I hear him, and I inch open the door, slipping soundlessly into the hallway. Rounding the corner, I press myself against the wall and watch his retreating figure. When he disappears into the master bedroom instead of the office, I wonder if maybe I’m acting ridiculous. Maybe I’m looking for problems where they don’t exist. Maybe I’m creating unnecessary drama in my head to explain away Mel’s abnormal behavior.
I’m about to head back into my room and call it a night when Landon reappears, flicking off the bedroom light as he leaves. He crosses the hall to the study, disappears inside, and closes the door. The lock clicks.
I wait. And wait. And wait.
He never emerges.
I was right. Theydon’tshare a bedroom.
I take no pleasure in it, though. Absolutely none at all.
* * *
Friday is my day off, so I spend it baking cupcakes in honor of Ollie’s birthday. Once the trays are in the oven, I snap in my headphones, crank up Alex Masen’s angelic voice, and get to work cleaning up the messy kitchen. The last thing I need is to attract Landon’s attention, especially when we’ve come this far with little interaction.
My stomach growls as I load up the dishwasher, reminding me that I did a four-mile run this morning, and once the room is spotless and sparkling, I grab some sliced turkey meat from the fridge. Taking off my headphones, I nibble on a piece and listen to the hum of the lawn mower outside—Parker’s calling card.
Ignoring Landon’s ridiculous warning, I hurry out the front door to flag him down.
“Parker! Hey!” I call, raising my voice to be heard over the mower. His eyes widen when he sees me standing on the front steps, and he brings the machine to a stop. “Hey, Parker. You hungry? I can make some sandwiches if you’re interested.” Parker hesitates, and then dips his chin. I can’t help but beam at him. “Great! Come in when you’re done.”
He nods and starts the mower back up while I head inside to gather ingredients. I toast some multi-grain bread and spread a layer of spicy Dijon mustard over one side, followed by my secret ingredient—raspberry preserves. I add a thin layer over the naked piece of bread before stacking cheese, a hefty serving of turkey, tomato, and lettuce on top. A masterpiece. Then I make a second.
After slicing the sandwiches diagonally, I arrange them on two plates and set each in front of a bar stool.
The ding of the timer means the cupcakes are done baking, and when I peek into the oven, they look and smell like perfection. As I set them on the stove to cool, Parker wanders in, the scent of freshly cut grass mixing with the heavenly strawberry aroma in the air. Something about it smells like summer, but Parker clearly didn’t get the memo. He’s wearing the hoodie again, sleeves pulled down over his arms and hands. Besides the few drops of sweat across his brow, he doesn’t seem to be suffering any sort of heat stroke, and I wonder if it has something to do with growing up in this heat. Maybe your body adjusts after a while. If that’s the case, I wish mine would hurry up and regulate already. I nearly died during my run this morning.
I barely see the fingers on his right hand as he picks up the sandwich and takes a bite.
“Good?” I ask, as overeager as always.
He nods, and I’m shocked when he holds my gaze for a few moments before looking away. I consider the prolonged eye contact a small victory. “Really good.”
I grin and take my own bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Yup. The preserves make it, no doubt.”
