“Does it always have to be my place? I’d love to see your house.”
He paused as he considered it. “It’s not very impressive.”
“It’s impressive that you have a house at all. Unless”—I tapped my chin— “you have skeletons in your closet I don’t know about.”
“You know about all of them.”
“Oh, or maybe a secret wife.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Or the worst of them all.” I leaned in close to him. “Clashing walls.”
“That’s it? That’s the worst you can think of?”
“Have youseenthe yellow and red walls some people used to paint their houses? It hurts my eyes.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“So, I’m helping.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.” I slowly headed toward the back. “You can’t stop me.”
“Piper,” he groaned.
“Bye!”
I ran for the mop, and I only heard a laugh from Theo.
Theo’s place was a small, one-story brick house in an old neighborhood. Massive trees shaded the gravel driveway. We weren’t far away from the square, yet it felt like a completely different area once we were out of the town center.
Yards stretched farther, and houses were nowhere near touching. Other than electrical lines, all I could see were fields and the sky.
His house was painted white on the inside with darker wood flooring. I could tell it had been well taken care of.
“Wow,” I said. “It’s nice.”
“It’s bare.”
“It’s still nice. You said this was once a hoarder’s house?”
“It was.”
“You’ve come a long way.”
Theo shrugged, his eyes going over the home. He acted as if all of his work was nothing.
“Don’t be shy and accept my compliment.”
“Don’t call me out.”
“I absolutely will. It really is nice, even if you haven’t decorated.”
“I never planned on staying. I always thought I’d fix it up and then move on.”
“Life has a way of taking a different path.”
