Page 7 of Acting Merry
When I set out to build this place, my plan was to make it the perfect house for a small family. I think I achieved that. What I hadn’t counted on was how many times I’d picture my own family here.
A family I don’t plan to have.
“Just so I can plan properly,” Reese says, “should I expect more house visits from heartbroken women with your personal effects?”
I laugh. “No. Tonight was a one-time show.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I don’t take women to my house.” In fact, just having Reese here is weird.
It’s her house, obviously, but my brain hasn’t quite registered that, so it feels a little bit like I broke one of my own rules. She brings a completely different energy to the space.
She’s put her touch all over, but beneath the Christmas decor and the tea towels and candles, it’s all the stuff I know and grew to love. Stuff I built with my own hands.
“Maybe you should change the address on your invoices,” Reese says. “Put a P.O. Box on there for your own safety. But at the very least, you should definitely change it to your new address. For my safety.”
I stop at the door and face her. “You telling me you didn’t find tonight just a little bit fun?”
She searches my face. “You mean getting insulted by a stranger on my doorstep?”
“What exactly did she say?” I can’t really imagine what sort of insult Bree—or anyone—could find for Reese. I’ve only known her for fifteen minutes, but she’s quick, beautiful, and fun.
“Well,” Reese says, “she looked at me for a few seconds, then said,I can’t believe he pickedyou.”
My eyes widen. “Jeez.”
“Gonna be unpacking that one in therapy for years to come.”
“I can save you some money and unpack it for you right here. Bree’s intense—obviously. And hurt. Her comment was pure jealousy.”
Reese folds her arms and looks at me. “What in the world did you do to her?”
“Nothing.”
She cocks a brow.
I put up my hands. “Honestly. I met her while doing some work at her parents’ house, and when I asked her out, I was very upfront with her that I don’t do relationships. She said she wasn’t looking for one.”
“But…”
“But,” I continue, “after the 85-degree sweatshirt incident, she kept texting me. I didn’t take the bait to ask her out again. And then she just got weirder. Started kind of stalking me on social media. She’d call me, then when I didn’t answer, she’d text to apologize for butt-dialing. She comments on every one of my social media stories and posts—not just my personal account, either. On mybusiness page, she’s leaving hearts and kissy faces and—” I shudder.
“Well,” Reese says, “hopefully she takes the hint this time.”
I show her two sets of crossed fingers. “Thanks again for stepping up. Not many people would’ve done that.”
“They would if Bree had looked at them like they’d just crawled out of the sewer and climbed in her bed. I’m just surprised she assumed I was your girlfriend given how repulsive I am. It seems like you don’t understand just how much you’ve demeaned yourself in dating me.”
Repulsive is the last word I’d use to describe her. “Must be why we broke up,” I tease.
“Wedidn’t break up, Cole; I broke up withyou.”
“Well, hey”—I nudge her with my elbow—“maybe I’ll get a second chance, huh?”
Her eyes light up like twinkling Christmas lights as she opens the front door. “You’re still fresh from a brutal breakup. Maybe you should focus on the basics first—like forwarding your mail. Meanwhile, I’ll be hanging a No Soliciting sign out front.”
I chuckle and step onto the porch. “Fair enough. I’ll get right on that.”
