Page 75 of Your Place or Mine

Because even in the middle of the hurt, even in the hollow ache of losing her…

I was still here.

And I was going to keep building.

Even if the man I’d let too close didn’t believe I should.

Especially then.

Because I wasn’t just doing this for myself.

I was doing it for her, too.

I was still sitting on the apartment floor when the knock came.

Soft. Two quick taps, a pause, and then one more.

Not a stranger’s knock.

It was the kind of knock that asked for permission instead of demanding attention.

I scrubbed my face with the sleeve of my paint-smeared shirt and glanced at the open door to my apartment just a few feet away. I’d forgotten to close it when I brought out the new roller tray.

The knock came again—this time paired with a voice.

“Hey, Lydia? It’s Riley. I, um… saw your door open. Just wanted to check in. You okay?”

I closed my eyes briefly, took a breath that didn’t quite settle in my chest, and called out, “Yeah. I mean… sort of.”

Another beat of silence. Then, gently, “Can I come in?”

I looked down at myself, with splotches of white paint on my arms, hands, and legs. My shirt was rumpled and stained, and my eyes were probably red-rimmed and puffy. I looked like a cautionary tale in a home improvement store commercial.

But still… I nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see me.

“Yeah,” I said. “Come on in.”

Riley pushed the door open slowly, her head poking in first. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, and she wore a sweatshirt with a fadedDon’t Talk to Me Until I’ve Had Coffeelogo stretched across it.

When she saw me on the floor, she didn’t gasp, frown, or give me thatoh, honeylook people do when they don’t know what to say. She just stepped inside, looked at the roller tray, the streaks on the wall, and the tired sadness on my face, and sat beside me.

Cross-legged. Casual.

Like she’d been planning to join me all along.

We sat like that for a while.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t ask.

She just waited.

Until I finally said, voice hoarse, “Sorry. I know this is a little dramatic.”

“Nah,” Riley said. “You should’ve seen me when my last relationship ended. I bought a gallon of terracotta paint, started crying halfway through the first wall, and ended up with an entire bathroom that looked like a haunted desert.”

I huffed out a laugh. It sounded broken, but it was a laugh.

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