Page 11 of Unexpected Love
He grinds his teeth at that because he knows I’m speaking the truth.
“You were the one who took an apartment that didn’t allow dogs.” He digs in the fridge and pulls out two cold beers, then ushers me to the back porch.
It’s quiet; the kids are all inside, either locked in their rooms or having their lone hour of device time, and my dog is nestled up in the midst of them.
“Yeah, well. He’s happier here with a yard to run in and kids to play with anyway. It wouldn’t be fair to him to lock him away all day.”
“He’s a cute dog. But he’s not what’s bothering you.”
I sigh. “I can’t get in touch with my contractor.”
Steve gives me a look—the kind that saysI told you so.
“I know, I know,” I concede. “I didn’t take your advice and hired the guy you didn’t like.”
He gives me another look before taking a long pull on his beer.
I can’t handle the weight of his gaze. It says that I’m a thirty-eight-year-old divorcée who’s been relying on him for the roof over my head for the past two years. But it also says there’s no rush for me to make this happen.
And he’s wrong.
“You insisted on me not paying rent while I was living here,” I say. “I’m truly grateful. I needed the time and spaceto get my bearings. To heal. But now I need to move forward. I can’t stay in this limbo state forever. Plus, you have one less mouth to feed now.”
“Look,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’d barely made it out the other side of a nasty divorce and had nowhere to go after the tornado. You’re my baby sister. I’m not going to throw you out on the streets. Especially when I’ve got a perfectly suitable room for you to crash in here with us. These two years have been a little hard, and I know you’re ready to have a place of your own. To start over, to start your business. But be smart. Also, trust me when I say we’ve always got room for you.”
My eyes burn with tears that I refuse to let fall. “I love you, bubba. Even if I’m tired of listening to your tantrums.”
He chuckles, but we both know he’s not the one throwing the tantrum. His wife, who nannies four kids while also being a stay-at-home mom to their five, throws one on a regular basis because, though the woman is a saint, she’s also exhausted.
“Come on, let’s go see if we can help with snack time. Then we’ll move the rest of your stuff.”
I add the last of the totes to the stack that lines the hallway and stand back to let Steve admire my new studio apartment. Late-afternoon sunlight streams through the double window off the small living room, making the barren white walls that much brighter. The efficiency kitchen houses my minimal pots and pans and my set of four dishes.
Three weeks of having my own place, and I’m finally getting settled. I might not have much in the way of amenities, but I have a wide balcony overlooking the bustlingmain street of Senoma. And finally, some peace and quiet from little-kid drama.
And hopefully those bustling pedestrians will soon be my patrons, because the storefront below my new apartment houses my future.
Senoma is growing, and everyone needs a good coffee, tea, or hot chocolate. And I’ve got big plans. I intend to take all my favorite parts of the Daily Brew and replicate them here, but also make itmore. Make it mine.
As for the rest of it—I glance around the apartment—I have a place to rest, shower, and eat. That’s all I need.
But these totes? With their carefully wrapped contents? They are my future. The contents represent the sheer amount of work ahead of me.
“That the last of it?”
“Yep.”
The bulky shape of my big brother fills the doorway. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to come back to my house? At least until we get the shop up and running?”
“Nope.”
He pulls me in for a hug, his big bear paw cupping my head. “I’m just gonna miss seeing you every day, Sis.” The emotion in his voice has a similar effect on me, making my eyes sting and my throat tighten. Sinking into the embrace, I savor the moment, because all too soon, he will be gone, and this interlude of togetherness will be over.
In time, he clears his throat and gives me a final pat on the back. “Have you met the neighbor yet?” he asks.
“Not in person,” I say, surreptitiously wiping the moisture from my eyes as I ease out of his arms. “But I was playing music one night, and they banged on the wall. I repaid that kindness by sending an order of fish to be delivered to theirdoorstep.”
Steve chuckles. “You should send a message through your Wi-Fi connections.”
