Chapter 2 #3
"If you want to pay me, give the poor man some kind of closure before you leave again, assuming you do.
Cole's never gotten over whatever happened.
" He holds up his hands before I can say anything.
"You don't owe me or anyone else a goddamn thing, Lace.
But him? You owe him something." Riley's voice and expression are serious—and no matter how much he may have changed, I know that it's still rare for him to be this blunt and serious.
I swallow hard, throat tight and eyes prickly. "I hear you," I whisper. "That's all I can give you right now, Rye. I hear you."
Fifteen years I haven't laid eyes on or spoken to this man, and yet somehow we're Rye and Lace again already, like nothing's changed.
"Good enough for now." Riley claps me on the shoulder like I'm his bro. "C'mon on, Lace. Meet you there."
What was once a plain old 2-story colonial has been utterly transformed.
He's redone the entire front profile, giving it a French-style roof, adding twin chimneys and a covered front porch; he also demolished the aged and rotting detached garage and added an attached garage with barn-look doors.
The red brick has been whitewashed, and the landscaping redone, as well.
"Riley, you did this?"
He shrugs. "Not me—we. I'm in charge of the demo side of things, the hardscape, and the landscaping. Fee does the architecture and design and the actual building."
"Well, it's impressive. If I didn't remember very clearly what this place used to look like, I wouldn't know it was the same place."
"Aw, shucks," he says, teasingly scuffing the driveway with the toe of his boot, faking bashfulness. "Let's get you settled. Can I help you with a bag or anything?"
I lift the vintage Louis Vuitton Neverfull GM hanging from the crook of my left elbow. "This is it for now. I'm not moving in, Riley. I just need somewhere to sleep until I can figure out what the actual fuck I’m doing with my life, and why the fuck I ended up here of all places."
“Too fuckin' right,” he says in a fake—and terrible—Australian accent, and leads the way to the front door, unlocks the lock box with a code, retrieves the key, and lets us in. "Well, here we are," he says, flicking on lights.
I look around, stunned. Before, this place was dark, cluttered with furniture too big and heavy for the space as it was, and the ceilings were low.
They took the place down to the studs, removed several walls, ripped out and replaced all the main-floor windows with much larger ones, and, thank god, they hadn't gone for the whole "Everything White" aesthetic.
The cabinets are royal blue, the counters are polished concrete, the appliances are off-white with rose-gold hardware, and the floors are some coppery-toned wood that complements the tones of the appliance hardware.
It's a hell of a kitchen. The living room is cozy and close without being too tight or too big.
The powder room is tasteful and functional.
The primary suite is easily my favorite part, though. The hardwood floors carry throughout, softened here by a huge, plush rug, cool, soothing robin’s-egg-blue walls, and simple, comfortable furniture.
"Who dressed the place?" I ask.
"Oh, we have a whole team. Crowe Construction, Demolitions, and Fine Homes is a one-stop shop, Miss Grey."
"So it seems." I set my bag on the thick white comforter draped over the lower half of the bed, leaving the blue flannel sheets partially exposed. "I am very impressed, Riley. Truly. You and Felix are a talented team."
"You don't have to act quite so surprised, there, Lace."
"I'm sorry. Keeping tabs via social media isn't the same thing as seeing your work in real life.”
Cadence taps Riley on the shoulder. "I would like to go home soon, Riley."
I flip my hands at them. "I'm good. You two get out of here. You just engaged. Go be together." I press my palms together under my chin. "Thank you, Riley. I owe you."
"No, you don't. But if you insist, I told you what my fee is."
I nod. "I'm too raw to go there right now, but like I said, I hear you."
He nods, giving me a brief but friendly smile before hooking an arm around his fiancée’s waist and tugging her for the front door, whispering something to her that has her gasp, shocked, and whack his chest with the back of her hand. "Riley!" she hisses. "Not here!"
"Oh, Lacey," Riley calls from the front door. "The plumbing is done, so feel free to use the shower in there. I think there's even towels."
"Thanks!" I call back, too tired to stand up from where I'm sitting on the edge of the bed.
I hear the front door close, and I'm alone again.
I look at my empty ring finger, and my heart lurches. Not because I miss Eddie, but…well, why? I suppose because it feels like yet another failure in my life, which has felt like one long series of catastrophic decisions.
Maybe I miss the idea of being married. The hope that things could get better—that Eddie would wake up one day and love me and value me beyond how I look on his arm at the club and the endless black-tie galas.
I shake those thoughts off, too exhausted to dwell on…anything, really. I kick off my boots, shuck my coat and mittens and hat, wriggle out of my pants, and climb under the covers, still wearing my jewelry and bra.
I would love to shower, but I’m just too tired.
I'll clean up in the morning.
For now, my eyes slip shut, and I drift into a blissfully dreamless sleep.