Page 106 of Desserts for Stressed People

He points at the narrow passage between the wall and the canal. “If you follow that path there, you get inside. There’s an arch.”

He drags me to the entrance of the building, to the green door for which I have a key, and I wait as he opens it. “Why did you have the graffiti done?”

“I don’t know. I guess I liked the idea that those who share the same sense of wonder as Riley, the same playful way to look at life, would find this place.”

The door opens with a squeak, and after a few steps, we’re inside the familiar, quaint space I’ve grown to love.

“This is where I lived as a child, with my parents and my sister.” He walks into the middle of the room with a nostalgic gaze. “There.”

This is where he—what?

When he notices I froze, he pulls my back against his chest, then points up again. “Second floor.”

I can’t see much of it, aside from the black railings and the weeds growing past it. They’re tangled with colorful flowers that hang loosely above our heads. Yellow, blue, pink. A pastel, decadent spectacle. “It’s gorgeous, Shane. Is this—is this the place—”

“Yes. This is the place I was forced to leave and come back to,” he says as he slowly loses his smile. “I’ve always felt this need to...I don’t know, write over the bad memories here with some good ones.” Smirking, he continues, “Lots to unpack, there, huh?”

“Not really.” I sigh, looking up again. If there’s something I can relate to, it’s trying to control something when you’re utterly powerless about everything else. “I get it.”

I’ve never been here this late at night, and tonight there’s no moon brightening up the sky, but the stars do it enough that I can recognize the column behind which I found the key, the arch that leads to the canal, the wall with the other graffiti of the girl. I get it now. She’s throwing her hands in the air because she’s happy. She found the secret spot.

Shane’s chest rises and drops behind me. It feels great—even more when he takes a deep breath at the nook of my neck. “Confession time. I’ve bought it.”

“What—” My heart drops in my chest. Did he just say...heboughtit? “What do you mean?”

“They kicked all tenants out about ten years ago. The city was going to knock the building down and make something else instead, with this part of the city being up and coming.” Letting me go, he moves to one wall and crosses his arms. “But they never did. Never had enough money for it, or, I don’t know. Poor project management.”

We both smile.

“So, you bought the whole building?” I ask.

“Yes. They put it up for sale a few years back, hoping that someone would buy it and fix it up. I have a contractual obligation to repair it within the next five years.”

My jaw drops. “That...sounds...” Expensive. Why would he do that? I know he’s family-rich, but he must have invested a lot of money in this place. To then...let it sit?

“Silly? Emotional? Completely unlike me?” When I nod, he does too. “Yeah. Told you there’s lots to unpack. Honestly, being here every once in a while is worth it.”

“How did you buy it?”

“They were selling it for close to nothing, provided I’d take care of the repairs. I got a mortgage.”

“But—why?”

He stifles a laugh. “The plan was to fix it up. My parents and I were going to do it together. Then...” He rubs his fingers over his chin, shying away as if he’s embarrassed. “Then my dad had one of his affairs, and my mom pulled out. That time was particularly bad, so I lost it with him. He pulled out too.”

Oh, damn. His parents’ relationship affected more than his childhood, didn’t it? “So...what will you do?” I ask.

He must notice the concern etched into my voice, because he chuckles. “I have an interested buyer. He’ll knock it down and build something else. With the prices on this side of town increasing by the minute, I’ll pay off the mortgage and make a good profit.”

That sounds much more like him.

As I let out a deep exhale, he walks back to me and grabs my hand in his. “Were you worried you’d need to pay off my debts?”

I give him a quick shrug. “A little. I can’t let you go to jail.”

He pulls me between his arms. “Well, until Idosell it or it crashes down on us, let’s work on those good memories?”

No argument here.

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