10. Fia
Fia
Apparently shoving everything into black trash bags and jumping on the trunk of my car to close it isn’t “correct.”
I wouldn’t know, I’ve never had to move before.
“I forgot my water bottle, be out in a sec!” I call to Caden as he sits in his Jeep, and I burst back through my front door.
I grab my water and stall in the foyer. The sturdy oak staircase stretches up to the second floor, to the bedrooms my siblings and I once all occupied. Generations have lived in this house and have found sanctuary here.
Scanning the family photos scattered across the butter-yellow walls, my eyes suddenly get misty.
“I’ll be back, Nan,” I whisper. “Take care of the house while I’m gone.” I kiss my fingertips and place them on the front door before pulling it shut behind me.
The lump in my throat gets tighter as I drive away.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull off the busy road, turning down a densely wooded, quiet street.
It probably would’ve been only ten minutes, but holy crap, Caden drives as slow as a turtle, and I’m at the mercy of following him.
Seriously, I almost honked a few times as he cruised along, shirtless, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
I’ve never been to this part of Wilmington, and as I slow down, I swivel to peer between the tall pines and thick evergreens. Stately homes sit far back from the road, barely noticeable unless you were searching.
“Where the hell are we?” I whisper as Hamburger yowls in his carrier on the seat beside me.
I don’t even know what the rental property looks like, but Caden assured me that he recently finished furnishing and painting the place. However, I’m now praying I didn’t agree to live in a creepy shack in the woods.
My stomach knots as Caden turns left between two black metal posts.
He’s right, I would’ve never found this place on my own.
The first thing I notice, beyond the fact that this property feels like a hidden estate, is that the driveway isn’t bumpy with weeds growing through cracks. It’s smooth and black as night. I lean into my steering wheel to get a better look at the house up ahead.
A striking white-brick house with black-trimmed windows sits surrounded by lush grass and blooming blue hydrangeas. It’s large enough for a family of six, minimum.
“This can’t be right . . .” I glance at myself in the mirror and adjust my hair. I look as frazzled as I feel right now.
Caden rolls right past the white-brick house. A sigh of relief shudders through me.
If that’s not the rental—which would be absurd—then where is it?
Fifty feet beyond the back of the house, we come to a stop in front of a detached four-car garage.
I step out, my car beeping at me as I leave the keys in the ignition.
“This is it,” Caden says, meeting my eyes briefly as he slips on a white T-shirt and comes around to the back of his car, opening the hatch.
“The garage?” I ask, my head a bit woozy.
He shakes his head and points towards the backyard of the big house, where a stone path lined with colorful flower bushes leads to a small white-brick cottage.
It’s like a miniature version of the large house but one story.
It has expansive windows in the front and a sleek black roof.
A stone patio and luxurious swimming pool separate it from the main house.
I sulk up to my boss, shielding my eyes from the sun. My head spins with so many questions, I’m not even sure where to start.
“Do you always drive fifteen under the speed limit?”
He stops rustling the bags and turns his attention to me, making me feel like a bug under a microscope.
“You couldn’t see out your back window. I didn’t want you to feel unsafe,” he says, no emotion, just logic.
“Oh, right.” I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head towards the cottage. “Second question, is the rental a guesthouse or . . . ?”
I mean obviously it is, but I’m trying to wrap my head around everything.
“Yeah, technically,” he replies, shoulders squared towards me.
“So who lives in that monstrosity then?” I ask, eyeing the gorgeous home that belongs on the cover of Southern Living magazine.
A lush layered garden trims the back side of the house, and bumblebees and birds buzz around, creating a fairy-tale oasis.
His gray eyes scan the home over my shoulder before landing back on me.
“I do.”
My mouth falls wide open as Caden fists two large black bags from the trunk, one in each hand, and heads towards the guesthouse. My rubber flip-flops smack the stone pathway as I take unsteady steps behind him.
“Excuse me, come again?” I croak out. “You live there?”
I’d pictured him in some sterile city loft . . . not this.
He glances over his shoulder at me with intense gray eyes before pushing the guesthouse’s front door open with his large shoulder. “Last time I checked, yes.”
I follow on his heels, wanting to reach out and shake him and force him to explain everything.
But then I take in the guesthouse, and all my thoughts slam to a halt.
Creamy off-white walls surround me—not a scuff mark or nail hole in sight.
No stacks of books on the floor, or collected knickknacks on every surface, just light wood floors spanning the bright, open space.
If I didn’t see the green grounds outside, I would think I’m in a beach house, with the calming airy atmosphere in here.
I turn, facing floor-to-ceiling windows that give a view of the crystal-blue swimming pool. The glass is miraculously streak-free. Daisy is going to smudge those up real quick.
The living room opens right into a little kitchen with pale blue cabinets and a marble island long enough I could lie on it. I squeeze my fingers together, because this isn’t real. Any moment I’ll wake up, I’m sure of it.
A thud brings me back to reality. Caden drops the bags next to the sectional sofa—a tan linen sofa as deep and billowy as a cloud.
He leaves without another word—either oblivious to my distress or a master at ignoring people.
“Did you not think it was an important detail to tell me that I was practically moving in with you?” I ask, chasing him outside.
He squares off in front of me on the stone path between the guesthouse and driveway. I nearly slam into his wall of a chest.
“Are you okay, Fia? You seem a bit flustered?” He narrows his eyes, evading my question.
I am flustered.
I groan and block him from taking another step. “I mean, you kind of lied to me.”
Caden is steady and calm. I fight the childish urge to push him into the nearby glittering pool.
“I didn’t lie,” he replies even toned. “I told you I had a property that I’d finished furnishing.”
I rack my brain, thinking about the specifics in our previous conversation.
He did say that, and I didn’t ask enough questions—that’s on me. But still.
He lets out a sigh, tilting his head. “Listen, I tried to find another place for you, but you needed something last minute. This was the best solution.”
I can’t deny that. And I can’t deny that not being charged rent is also the best-case scenario. But I’m not thrilled he will be right there, able to see when I come and go and . . .
“You know you can trust me, right?” I ask, my voice snappy.
Caden keeps walking towards the car, loading my crap into his arms. He picked up the heaviest box but makes no show of it as the sleeves of his shirt strain against his shoulders. “Of course I trust you, I wouldn’t have promoted you if I didn’t.”
I cross my arms over my chest, reaching for the ninety-nine-cent sunglasses resting on my head. I pull them over my eyes.
“So me moving into your backyard doesn’t have anything to do with you wanting to keep tabs on me or make sure I’m not late to work again?”
Caden’s jaw tightens, then he smirks. It’s jarring. It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to a smile from this man. “No, Fia. Like I said, I need my manager to be able to function to keep my business running. It’s my job to make sure you’re taken care of.”
But there’s a flicker around his eyes. He seems to be having a hard time looking at me.
I narrow my eyes for a brief moment. What choice do I have, really?
“Okay,” I say with a sigh and continue moving.
I grab Hamburger from the car, who hisses at me from his carrier. Inside the cool guesthouse, I find Caden leaning on the kitchen counter, facing the front door.
He catches my gaze under unfairly thick lashes and motions for me to come close.
“Here, I want you to see this.” He holds out his phone, showing me cameras at different angles on the property.
I rip my sunglasses off and grimace.
“I keep this place pretty secure, but you’ll have all the privacy you need. I have no interest in your whereabouts outside of work. Treat this place like home.”
I exhale, setting Hamburger down next to the little dining table. I peel my eyes away from Caden’s, looking out the window.
It is nice. And it’s very quiet. Peaceful. I think Daisy will sleep well here.
“It’s not privacy I’m worried about,” I reply, my anxiety hitching up my heart rate.
I round my back to lean against the countertop across from him.
The marble is cool through my thin shirt.
“It might be disruptive for me to be here . . . You do know that sometimes Daisy cries at night and it’s loud. ”
Caden straightens, walking back outside, ignoring me again. I follow with haste.
“That seems like a normal thing toddlers do,” he finally replies with a small shrug.
Has he always been this hot and cold, or have I simply not spent enough time around him to notice?
“All I’m trying to say is that I want you to be super sure you’re okay with this. My daughter has meltdowns occasionally, and I like to listen to my music kind of loud when I make dinner, and Hamburger, well you know how cats can be—”
He stops and turns to gaze at me, not even a sliver out of breath from the heavy boxes he’s been hauling. I, for one, feel like I’ve been trying to catch my breath since I got out of the car.
I just really need to know that in a few days, after seeing my unfiltered life outside of work, he isn’t going to change his mind. What if he sees how messy my homelife is and second-guesses his choice of putting so much faith in me at Good Grinds?
“If I can hear you from inside my home, then I did a shit job of insulating my house.” Caden takes a few steps closer to me. For a second, it looks like he’s going to place his hands on my shoulders, but of course he doesn’t—he’s my boss. That would be totally inappropriate.
“Yeah, things happened fast, but I know what I’m getting into by having you stay here.
Believe me.” He rests a box on his hip, sighing.
“Listen, this setup is only for six weeks. It’ll pass before we know it.
We’ll barely see each other outside of work.
I’ll stay in my house, you’ll stay in the guesthouse. Don’t overthink it, Hanson.”
“Right. Fine. Okay.” I say no more on that matter and help him unload the rest of my stuff in silence.
If it’s no big deal to him, then it’s no big deal to me.
I’ll think of the pool as the middle line. We’ll each stay on our respective sides.
“Thanks for your help,” I say quickly as he drops the last of my belongings inside. My eyes sweep over all the crap I have to unpack. I might’ve brought too much, but hindsight and all.
“If you have questions about the guesthouse, you know how to reach me,” he says, before walking out.
I watch from the living room full of bags and boxes as he walks across the sleek stone path to the sliding back doors of his house, disappearing behind them.
We are just neighbors. We don’t have to interact outside of work. No one but Halle even knows about this setup. It’ll be fine. I have got this under control.
I drag a trash bag full of clothes into the bedroom I’ll be sleeping in, relieved it’s in the back of the guesthouse and has curtains.
The last thing in the world I need is for Caden Brooks to see me in my birthday suit.