Page 83 of Your Place or Mine

I pulled on gloves and got to work.

I hauled out a broom and swept away dead leaves. Pulled weeds from between bricks. Even rearranged the benches into a more inviting setup, dragging them into a half-circle around the old fire pit that hadn’t been used in years.

A sound caught my ear as I stood there, brushing dirt off my hands and imagining potted petunias and BBQ dinners rolling off the grill.

I turned.

And blinked.

The hallway utility door was ajar.

Curious, I stepped inside and stopped short.

The light.

It was on.

Notbuzzing.

Warm. Soft. New.

My eyes widened as I looked around.

The outlet had been replaced.

The overhead fixture, too. No longer was it just a spare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. There was an official utility light fixture, durable enough if it got bumped and cute enough not to make me cringe.

The rickety hinges that used to squeal like banshees? Oiled and silent.

I hadn’t done this.

And I hadn’t hired anyone yet.

Which meant…

Oh no.

I straightened slowly, heart thudding.

There was only one person who had access to the old keys. One person who knew how much I hated that damn buzzing light. One person who might fix things as a way to say what he couldn’t bring himself to say with actual words.

Callum.

My brain scrambled.

Angry? No.

Surprised? A little.

But mostly, I was confused.

Why now?

Why this?

Was it guilt?

Regret?

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