Chapter 11 #2
That would solve some of my problems. I laughed at the awful thought, then sobered as I stared at the front door. What now? Walk in like I always did, because I lived here? Or knock like a stranger, which I was? Neither one felt right.
I settled for knocking because I wasn’t in the mood to get shot. As I waited for him to answer, I tried to think back on whether Naomi had ever mentioned whether her brother had a gun or was a violent type, but the truth was, she hadn’t told me much about him.
The door whipped open, and there stood the man in question.
He narrowed his eyes at me, not speaking.
I didn’t know how he usually looked, but today he looked like hell, with bloodshot eyes, scruff on his jaw, and weariness in his expression.
He’d changed out of the wrinkled suit from last night and was wearing athletic pants and a Henley.
“Hi,” I said tentatively. “I’m Harper. Naomi’s roommate.”
His shoulders lowered slightly as he averted his gaze to the ground, seeming defeated or annoyed or…regretful?
“You came by last night?” he asked in a voice rough with fatigue and most likely a severe hangover.
“Yes. With my…date.”
Ian walked away from the door, toward the kitchen, leaving it open for me to follow, so I did.
I stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, where he stood on the opposite side, his back to me as he filled a glass with water.
“I suspect I owe you an apology,” he said, not turning around.
“You don’t remember me coming home? Telling me to leave?”
He drank half the glass, then rubbed his temple. “I have some memory of it.”
I stood there tensely, waiting to see what he’d do next, ready to bolt for the front door if he got nasty again.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked.
“Harper.”
He slowly turned to face me, leaning his weight on the cabinets. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. I…wasn’t in my right mind.”
“Scotch can have that effect,” I said lightly. “Been there.”
I didn’t like this guy, didn’t trust him for anything, but I needed to get along with him well enough to have a chance to move my stuff out. Even better would be to find out what he planned to do with the studio.
“You lived here with my sister?”
I nodded. “For three years. We were good friends.” I willed my emotions to stay level. “We didn’t have a formal lease, but I paid her rent every month. I could show you payment records on my phone—”
“That’s not necessary.”
I leaned on the doorframe, lowering my guard by a degree but not relaxing enough to enter the room. “Your aunt Sharon tried to contact you after Naomi… She said she left a dozen messages.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I was in Thailand, off-grid for two months.” His lips slipped into a frown momentarily. “I didn’t know until a week ago. This is the soonest I could get here.” The quiver in that last word told me what his words didn’t. Not getting the messages about his sister bothered him.
“You and Naomi weren’t very close, right?”
“We were…different. Opposites, you could say. It’s been a few years since I talked to her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He turned his gaze out the window that looked over the driveway. “We fought about this place when our grandfather left it to us. I wanted to sell it then.”
“She didn’t,” I said with certainty. “She loved this place. The farmhouse. The land. The studio.”
“That outbuilding out back?”
It was technically a farm outbuilding, I supposed, but Naomi had made it so much more. “Have you been inside?”
Ian let out a sardonic chuckle. “No. I didn’t make it past the scotch.”
There was enough self-derision in his tone that I kept quiet, wondering for the first time if there was more to this guy than I ever expected.
“I came back to take care of business,” he said.
“Drove straight here when my plane landed yesterday to take stock of what would be involved.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and rubbed his temples.
“When I walked in the door…” He shook his head, his eyes closed, then swallowed.
“Everything about this place is so one hundred percent my sister… Damn.” His voice cracked, and he took several seconds to speak again.
“We hadn’t talked for five years. I thought I was still mad at her.
Then I walked in here, and it was as if she might glide into the room at any second.
The colors are her. The decor is her. I could swear it even smells like her, light and airy and sweet. ”
I had the same thought every time I walked inside, even though it’d been weeks since Naomi had been here in the flesh. I could still smell her sweetness.
My caution toward this guy slipped several degrees and was replaced by sympathy. I could tell just from looking at him his sister’s death had hit him harder than he’d anticipated.
“I’m not a big drinker,” he continued. “I didn’t expect to be blindsided by her loss…” He covered his eyes, then roved his hands down his face. “I saw the scotch and got a glass to dull things a bit.”
“Did it work?”
“Not nearly enough.”
I nodded. “I tried the same kind of thing a couple of times. Vodka instead of scotch. It doesn’t matter how much you drink. When you sober up, she’s still gone.”
“Yeah,” he said on a pained exhale. “I’m sorry you walked in on that. Sorry you had to go somewhere else last night. Please tell me you didn’t sleep in your car.”
“I didn’t sleep in my car.” That would’ve been smarter, I realized now.
He drank the rest of his water, set the glass on the counter resolutely, as if he was closing the topic of last night. I needed to do the same.
“Do you know what you’re going to do with this property yet?” I asked. “A lot of people are wondering.”
“I’m going to sell it.”
Even though that wasn’t surprising, it felt like a punch to the gut.
“I’ll give you time to find a place to live,” he said, as if my reaction showed on my face. “I’ll move to a hotel.”
“It’s your house.”
“I own it, but it’s your home. Contrary to what you saw last night, I’m not a complete asshole.”
I studied him and found I believed this was more Ian Finley than the guy from last night.
There was no question he was grieving his sister in addition to being hungover.
Something in my gut said I could trust him on some level.
Maybe if I spent more time with him, I could convince him not to sell.
To keep the studio open. So many people relied on that space to escape into their art.
“Do you own a gun?” I asked.
“Do I what?” He said it with a chuckle of disbelief. “No. I don’t own a gun. Do you?”
“No. I have a lead on a place to live, but it would take a bit for it to be ready. I don’t exactly know how long yet.”
“That’s fine. I’m not unreasonable…unless I’ve had a bottle of scotch.”
“Thank you,” I said. I watched him for a few more seconds, finding nothing to dissuade me. “You’re welcome to stay in one of the other bedrooms instead of a hotel.” I had a lock on my door, but I didn’t think I’d need it.
He studied me right back, his head tilted. “If you’re sure you’re comfortable with that, I’ll take you up on it.”
“I’m sure. I’ll be out in less than a month.” I couldn’t let myself think too hard about what I’d just indirectly committed to. I obviously couldn’t stay here. “If it goes into September, I’ll pay a prorated rent.”
“That’s not necessary,” Ian said. “Being able to stay here will help me a lot. I’ll be taking stock of what needs to be done, seeing to any repairs or upgrades. I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible and give you a heads-up on any projects that might be disruptive.”
I nodded just as I caught sight of an SUV pulling up in the driveway. My heart lurched when I recognized it as Max’s. “I have one more condition to add to our deal.”
His brows went up in question.
“That guy from last night? He’s going to show up at the front door in about thirty seconds. I’m going out the back, to the studio. If you can get rid of him, I’ll buy you dinner sometime.”
Ian followed my gaze out the window as Max got out of his vehicle. With a half grin, Ian said, “I can handle him.”
“Thanks.” I returned his smile. “We’ll shake later. I gotta go.”
Without waiting for Max to knock, I beelined right the hell out the back way to my refuge.