Page 92 of When the Smoke Clears

Really. This is so weird. I can’t reconcile the vision of her in a doctor’s coat and dressed to frame the inside of a barndominium.

Her smile reaches her ears as she scuffs her boots along the concrete floor toward me.

“You’re a pleasant surprise.” She takes the drink from me. “Thank you.”

“It feels like an overdue visit,” I say, surveying the cathedral ceilings and partially framed walls.

“What’s that look?” she asks, bringing the cup to her lips.

“You build shit.” I grin slowly, shaking my head.

“I know.” With a flirty smirk, she lifts her shoulders. “What can I say? I’m the perfect woman for you, but you never got the memo.”

Oh, I got the memo.

“Heated floors?” I bend down and feel them.

“Of course.”

“Nice.”

“Want to see the plans?” she asks, turning toward the pile of wood with papers and food wrappers atop it. She brings up the plans on her tablet and shows me.

“You’re doing all of this yourself?”

“No. Maren and Ozzy have helped me. Lola too.”

I glance up from the tablet. “They didn’t mention that.”

“Because you insist they think of me as an enemy. So they don’t feel comfortable telling you the truth.”

I frown.

“Stop.” She chuckles, setting the tablet aside and sipping her coffee. “You moved to Somers. The world wouldn’t end if you told them the truth.”

I walk around, inspecting her work. It’s good. Really good. “And what is the truth?”

“Our love story has been beautiful and tragic. And we might not end up together, but not because we don’t belong together.”

“Love story feels a little exaggerated.” I open and close a window before facing her. If my circumstances were different, I might agree with her. Fuck it. I do agree with her. It was love. It is love. And it always will be. Maybe I love her too much to tell her how I feel because that’s all it can be right now. Words. Nothing else.

“You’re right,” she says. “My love story has been beautiful and tragic. Maybe your love story has yet to be told. If that’s the case, I envy the lucky woman who gets to be your heroine.”

I survey the space again, anything to avoid prolonged eye contact. “We’re all hiking today,” I say.

“I know. I was there last night when everyone was talking about it.”

“Would you like to come with us?” I risk a glance at her.

She lifts her eyebrows without saying a word.

“Clearly, Maren and Ozzy like you. Jamie works with you, and Fitz doesn’t matter.”

She grins. “Poor Fitz.”

“No. If you’re going to be friends with us, the first rule is you can’t feel sorry for Fitz.”

Everleigh curls her lips between her teeth and nods.