He grabbed the handles on the garbage can and leaned it back so that it would roll on the two wheels. The tricky part of this chore was not yanking on his shoulder muscles as he pulled. He made it to the curb, a disproportionate sense of accomplishment spurring him on. Clapping his hands together, he turned to see if Tilly was outside. He wanted to share this victory with her.
Parked in front of her house was a white sedan with York Realty printed on the side in bright blue. He blinked and stepped closer. Under the logo was the phrase “We’ll help you find your next home.” He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he’d gone mad. Tilly was selling her house?
The front door opened and a woman dressed in a cream pantsuit and teal blouse stepped out. She had highlights and hair that didn’t move. Her beaded jewelry was huge, and she carried a briefcase. Tilly shook her hand and said goodbye. She was about to shut the door when Brayden called her name.
He hadn’t meant to, but his instincts were always faster than his brain. He stormed across the street, ignoring the woman getting into her car. “You can’t sell your house!” he bellowed. Things were spiraling out of control. First the box of his things, and now Tilly wasmoving. He stopped at the bottom of her steps and planted his hands on his hips. “Tilly, this isn’t healthy. You can’t sell your house because you’re mad at me.”
Her mouth fell open.
“You love this condo. Heck, I love this condo.” His voice dropped to normal conversation levels. “I’ll leave. If it will make you happy, make all this easier, I’ll sell.”
She held up a hand. “I’m not selling my house. Geez—ego much? If you haven’t noticed, I’m doing fine.”
His hands fell to his sides. “Then what’s with the real estate agent?”
She pressed her lips together, and he could imagine her running her fingers over them as if she were zipping them shut.
“Talk to me, Tills.” Her nickname fell from his lips as easily as his hands had gone to her arms the night before. He was as drawn to her as he’d ever been. Things between them could be so easy. “I miss our talks. You’re my best friend.”
“I was just a girl you dated.”
“No.” He cut his hand through the air. “That’s not right.”
“It is from where I’m sitting.” She swept inside and shut the door.
Brayden stared at the door for a while. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there before he found the ability to head back home.
Tilly
Tilly took a shaky breath. When Clover had said she was going to send someone over to pray with her, she was expecting an older gentleman, maybe the pastor who had taken Clover in for a while. She certainly didn’t expect a middle-aged real estate agent.
Cheri was so kind. And her ability to form a beautiful prayer was a gift. Tilly had relaxed into the words that were as much poetry as they were a supplication to the Almighty on her behalf. She’d opened the clamped-shut parts of herself in the peace that followed.
It was that peace that held her together in the wake of Brayden’s desperation that she not sell her house. His offer to sell his instead was so sweet, so selfless, so heartbreakingly wonderful that it made her ache for him all over again.
And could she forget about that ring? No! It haunted her like the ghost of boyfriends past.
One day. One day she would be able to look at Brayden and not want him.
For now, she’d rely on the Lord to get her through. She pushed away from the door, noting that she wasn’t in a heap on the floor in tears. That was progress. Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the yoga mat in the corner of the room. Centering herself seemed like an appropriate thing to do at the moment.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brayden
“Iunderstand why they call this place the torture chamber now,” Brayden bit out through gritted teeth. He lifted the weight out to the side with a straight arm.
Elise smiled easily. “Look at you. 90 degrees and counting.”
Huge progress, considering where he’d begun. If he could raise his arm vertically, he’d have hope of rotating his shoulder. That would be a miracle.
Sweat dripped off of him, creating a puddle on the black padded floor. “You don’t feel bad at all about putting me through this, do you?”
Elise laughed, lifting his hand a fraction of an inch higher. There was an uncomfortable tug—nothing that would cause him harm, but that much more motion. “Nope. Okay. Other side.”
He did as instructed, the puddle of sweat getting bigger. He’d have to drink a gallon of water after this session.
“Push it, Brayden. Don’t get soft on me now.”
