Page 113 of Built to Fall
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GRANT
Waking up in The Atlantis never gets easier.
Even after four years, the house still breathes her in every corner—the worn wood floors she refused to replace, the faded blue shutters she painted herself, and the way the whole place smells faintly of sea air and old books.
This was her pride and joy. Her dream. She poured herself into every inch of it, from the ivy climbing the porch railings to one of her paintings still hanging over the fireplace.
Careful not to wake Lina, who was sound asleep in my bed, I tread down the stairs. I’m not sure if she slept for any amount of time in the guest bedroom. All I know is, around two in the morning, the light streaming in from the hallway stirred me awake as she slowly creaked the door open.
“I can’t sleep,” she had whispered, standing at the foot of my bed.
Sitting up slightly on my forearms, I had strained to make her out in the dim room. Looking at her, I couldn’t even be mad at the intrusion—not when she stood there in her adorable matching pajama set, her long brown hair starting to fall out of its ponytail, and her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to take up less space than she already was.
Sopainfully pretty.
I couldn’t resist the way she wasvisibly tired but too stubborn to go to sleep on her own terms. Which is why I lifted the duvet up on the other side of me and said in a quiet, groggy voice, “C’mere.”
She didn’t hesitate. Just slipped under the covers and curled up with her back facing me, leaving enough space between us to feel the gap like a live wire. I didn’t push it. I lay there, listening to her breathing even out until I finally drifted off again.
Now, hours later, I move quietly through the house, as if my mom’s memories are tucked in the walls. The morning light spills through the windows into the kitchen and living room, bathing the rooms in a golden hue.
The Atlantis always feels heavier in the mornings—like the weight of my mom’s memory settles in with the sunrise.
At the same time, it takes awhile formeto settle in whenever I’m here. Since I’m typically by myself, I can usually do that without thinking twice about it.
But with Lina upstairs, it feels different. Like the memories echoing are being drowned out by the girl in my bed.
A soft creak on the staircase pulls my attention away. A moment later, Lina appears, yawning into her sleeve, her hair a sleepy mess around her face. She’s still in the same matching pajamas but somehow looks even more disoriented, like she was fighting sleep all night—it’s not entirely unlikely, either.
I’m reminded of the reason I brought her here in the first place: to give her a place to escape.
After she cried in my arms about missing her mom during the holidays, I knew Christmas—and the few days following—was going to be tough for her.
I wanted to make it better, and I was going to be headed to the vineyard anyway, so it made sense to bring her along.
“Morning,” she says, voice scratchy. She blinks at me, adjusting to the sunlight pouring into the kitchen.
“Morning,” I say back, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. “Coffee?”
She nods like I just offered her salvation. “Please. And maybe a eulogy for my dignity while you’re at it.”
I smirk as I pour. “You looked pretty dignified crashing my bed last night.”
“I was desperate,” she says, sliding onto one of the barstools at the counter and slumping forward like she might fall asleep right there. “You can’t hold that against me. I was fully prepared for your jokes the moment I walked through the door, like a kid waking their parents in the middle of the night.”
“I’m not complaining,” I say, setting the mug in front of her. Our fingers brush, barely, but it’s enough to make me glance up and catch her doing the same. “In fact, I should probably be grateful you weren’t coming in to tell me you threw up.”
She wraps her hands around the mug, hiding her face behind it. “You were very hospitable, by the way. Gold star.”
I laugh under my breath. “High praise, coming from you.”
The tiniest smile pulls at her lips. “I don’t hand those out easily, you know.”
We fall into a quiet stretch, the kind that somehow doesn’t feel awkward with her. The coffee pot gurgles in the background, and the breeze lifts the sheer curtains, making the house feel almost alive.
“This place is so quiet, and then there will be random sounds. I kept thinking I was hearing things.”
