Dell’s door slammed shut. With a shake of her head, Mae released her seatbelt.
And then she leaned forward and released a quiet curse.
Of course. Of course Dell McCleary’s house was a fucking masterpiece.
She could only see glimpses: the flash of what their headlights revealed before they cut their engines, the narrow window of illumination from the spotlight at the side of the house. But she could tell it was a modern build. A sloped roof, sharp lines and angles similar to what developers knocked over old bungalows to build in Portland on the regular these days. Except while those houses in Portland were usually painted in stark contrasts—whites and blacks, navy and glass—Dell’s home was all natural wood, befitting of the Coastal Range foothills it was nestled against.
Mae wrestled her tote bags back over her shoulder. The quiet-but-loud noises of the coastal countryside at night—insects and toads and, even from here, the distant ambient rush of the ocean—settled into her system, both comforting and unnerving as she stared blankly at the suitcases in her trunk, struggling to remember which one contained her toothbrush.
Dell reached past her shoulder and grabbed one at random before she could figure it out.
Closing the trunk and biting her tongue, she followed him as he walked away from the drive. The flashlight from his phone led them along a neatly manicured stone walkway behind the house, until a minute later, another spotlight clicked on.
Holy hell.
Dell rustled with his keys before opening the door to the ADU. He pushed her suitcase inside, flicking on the lights before he turned.
“You coming inside?”
Mae snapped her mouth shut and did as asked.
Dell’s ADU matched the beauty of the main house, just smaller in scale: a slanted roof over warm wood and clean glass. And as Mae stepped past Dell into the heart of it, the structure became even more remarkable.
No doubt the space was small, but it was designed and decorated impeccably. A wall divided the narrow galley kitchen and dining area from the living space. Dell parked Mae’s suitcase by the bed that hugged the wall. Walked past the bookshelves that lay at the head of the bed to click on another light in the bathroom, hidden neatly behind those bookshelves. Everything was suffused in warm autumn colors, like one of Taylor Swift’s pandemic albums: the art on the walls, the shelves, the Pendleton blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
The Pendleton blanket that probably cost more than Mae’s old rent.
Even if…she could probably afford Pendleton blankets too, now. At least if she managed her business plan well. She kept forgetting she had money now. She felt like she’d probably always keep forgetting.
“This is…”Fucking gorgeous. But Mae was having trouble translating words from her brain to her mouth.
Dell stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“I built it for my mom,” he said. “She’s getting older, and she’s been alone since my stepdad died, but…” His shoulders lifted as his eyes scanned the space. “Haven’t been able to fully convince her yet.”
Hebuiltthis.
Of course he did.
He built this for hismom.
Words finally tumbled from her tongue.
“This is the Airbnb of my fucking dreams.”
A wry smile tugged beneath Dell’s beard.
“I actually did try that, for a while. As evil as the empire is, it felt like what I should do.” His shoulders lifted again as he rubbed his jaw. “Turns out I wasn’t the friendliest host.”
Mae laughed before she could stop herself. Dell’s eyes met hers, a spark of self-deprecating amusement accompanying his grin.
And what in the hell? It was entirely too cozy in here, and Mae and Dell did not…share self-deprecating smiles. She was definitely, fully pissed at this fine specimen of a human. This practical stranger who kept derailing her plans. Who had looked at her, until this very moment, like she was small.
And maybe she couldn’t stop thinking about his nails, which she had been able to observe, up close and personal this time, at the restaurant. They were painted a metallic shade of pale yellow now. Maybe she couldn’t stop thinking about hisI like themcomment about her pride flags. Said in a different tone than she’d heard from him before, a low vibration that had settled in her toes. Which had been confusing at the time, being that she was busy being pissed at him. As aforementioned.
Was Dell McCleary gay? Queer? An ally?
But it shouldn’t matter. Itdidn’tmatter.
