Page 141 of Full Mountie

Iendup staying at Lachlan’s every night for nearly two weeks. By the middle of July, I’ve taken over a third of his closet with work clothes, and I find myself standing in the middle of his bedroom with a laundry basket of yoga pants and t-shirts, wondering if I’m accidentally moving in, one piece of clothing at a time.

I probably shouldn’t do that.

Hugh stays here, too, but his clothes live at his apartment. He brings an overnight bag in from his car every night, and departs with it in the morning.

“Huh,” I say to myself as I dump the laundry basket on the bed. “That’s interesting.”

So is talking out loud when nobody else is home. Interesting, crazy…

I fold my clothes neatly.

Then I look at the dresser.

No.

I dig my bag out from under the bed, where we kicked it a few days ago after I unloaded yet another pile of clothes for my extended love nest stay.

I put all my clean laundry in it.

I don’t touch the stuff in the closet, because it’s already neatly hung up.

Then I resolve to sleep at my own place tonight. Lachlan has a night shift, the first of four in a row.

Hugh is working days.

If he wants, he can stay at my place, too.

He can bring his duffle bag with him, and take it in the morning, and in between he can give me lessons in appropriate boundaries.

Iendup staying at my apartment all week, and by the time Friday rolls around, I miss Lachlan’s place.

I miss his king-sized bed and being sandwiched between two big, warm bodies.

I still love my neighbourhood, though, so on my last morning there for the next little while, I decide to walk to work. I leave extra early so I can loop around to my favourite bagel place, and take my time strolling toward the Hill. And I’m glad I do, because on the way I pass a For Sale sign on a house that’s way beyond my budget.

But I just happen to know someone who’s in the market.

Jack Benton, who came to Ottawa and had a secretive meeting with the prime minister—way more off the record than I was expecting. But then the news broke that he’s selling the Lumberjacks, and the pieces started to fall into place.

He’s moving to Ottawa to join the government, and he’s going to need a place to live.

I take a picture of the stunning modern house, all glass and wood and dark grey panels, and fire off an email from my phone. This place hasbillionaire-who-wants-to-be-close-to-everythingwritten all over it.

From: Beth Evans

To: Jack Benton

Subject: A house I would definitely look at if I were you

This is the nicest house I’ve seen for sale in The Glebe, fyi. Unless you want an estate outside the city? And feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but I like real estate. I helped Max Donovan find a house when he moved here.

When I get to work, Lachlan is sitting at my desk.

“What are you still doing here?” I ask with a happy smile, setting my coffee in its spot before I hang up my purse on its hook.

“Thought I’d say good morning before I head home to sleep.”

I wink at him. “Good morning.”

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