“I’m sorry.” I soften, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m letting my bad day shade your news. But the Halls destroyed your life. What are you going to do with their house?”
She rebounds a little at my milder tone, straightening her spine a fraction. “I mean, there’s a lot of potential. It’s over an acre on the water. And the house was built in the 1920s. Property is an appreciating asset. Especially in Winter Park.”
How do I tell her therapy is the best investment she can make right now?
“It’s…” I struggle for a kind word. “It’s very big.”
“I don’t care if you think it’s crazy, Este.” She takes a few steps toward the front of the house. She has to hike her knees up to clear the overgrown grass and weeds beneath her feet, and it’s hard not to marvel at how fast the heat and humidity can turn things wild. A year ago this house was immaculate.
Things can get out of hand so fast around here.
One minute you’re at a party, the next minute your husband’s maybe-mistress is dead.
“I have a key,” she offers. “We could go inside?”
Under different circumstances, I would laugh and tell her that I wouldn’t set foot in that house without a bouquet of sage and a bag full of crystals to ward off all the bad energy floating inside those walls. But she’s so excited.
And sometimes you put your life-on-fire bullshit aside for your best friend.
“Yeah. Okay.” I nod.
She starts pulling at weeds as she makes her way toward the door.
“You’re going to need a blowtorch to clean all of this up,” I mutter under my breath.
“Fun. That can be your job.”
I shake my head. “You’retoogood to me.”
The front door is an ornate, solid-wood carved wall thattakes both of our body weights to shove open after Nora turns the bronze doorknob. And as we push our way into the foyer, the sounds from outside—birds twittering and a breeze rustling through tree branches—fall away. A hollow, eerie stillness settles over us, and we’re greeted by the muffled sounds of our feet disturbing dusty floors and the humid air trapped inside.
Even under a year’s worth of stale air and accumulated dust, the bones of the house are impressive. But there’s no amount of HGTV that could spruce up the karma of this place.
“Is there a reason you’d rather buy a house than go ononedate with Marcus Campbell?” I mutter, swiping at the cobwebs crowding the space as we try to step through the rooms.
“That’s not fair.” She frowns. “The house is part of reclaiming my life. Dating is…less of a proclamation and more of a crapshoot.”
“You can’t be serious. Marcus is a sure thing.”
She shrugs. “Maybe I’m not, though. I used to be the marrying type. I let myself get swept off my feet with Will, and look where that got me.”
“Okay, Will being entangled with a bed of vipers wasn’t really your fault.”
“I never saw it coming.” She shakes her head. “Even after he went missing, I thought everything was going to work out like a fairy tale. My head was too far up in the clouds. Andthatwas my fault.”
“Okay, but I don’t think Marcus is going to be murdered. For starters, he doesn’thavea business partner.”
She doesn’t laugh. Instead, she goes quiet for a beat, looking around the wreckage of the Halls’ old life. In a weird way, we’re all ghosts to this house. The thought sends a shiver up my spine.
“Why do you need me to date someone, Este?” she finally asks. “I know you and Beau are happy, but not everyone needs that.”
There’s a dull throb in my chest as I watch her. She’s still the girl whowantsa fairy tale. But she’s walled up that place in her heart as some kind of penance for her past mistakes.
I know the feeling.
“I’m not some bridal magazine editor. I’m not saying youhaveto get married again. But…” I consider the question for another beat. “With Beau it was like finding a family. Something I thought I had lost. I want that for you. And the way Marcus looks at you—”
“You’remy family,” she says. “You and Beau. Marcus, too. I can have a family and keep my head out of the clouds.” After a beat, Nora says, “Should we go upstairs and see if Gianna left behind a thread of Chanel?”
