Chapter 16 #2
But I do have to leave, and I can’t tell him why.
Declan, to me, became like a blade buried deep in my side.
Over the years, we fused so completely that removing him from my life seemed life-threatening.
And then he was ripped away from me overnight, and I’d been trying to clot the bleeding ever since.
How would I survive being near him again when the original wound never healed?
I dip out of the bedroom and escape to the living room. He follows, returning to inspecting the house without missing a beat.
He saunters up to the bookshelf like he was in the middle of a long walk. “No way,” he huffs. “A copy of Divergent? It really is like this house is yours,” he says, reaching for it.
“It’s a popular book,” I deflect, hoping he doesn’t find the page I scribbled our initials on.
“What was it you said when the movie came out?” he asks like a dare, flipping through the pages.
I already know what he’s referring to by the teasing lilt in his voice.
“You don’t look anything like Theo James now,” I say.
“Right, yeah. Of course not.” He feigns innocence, shaking his head with an ironic, puckered expression. I chuckle. I’m grateful he’s distracted enough to put the book back on the shelf. “So, what I’m hearing is that I did look like him, though? At one point in time.”
“That one point being as a kid, perhaps. Just a little bit,” I allow.
“Hey, I’ll take it. To have looked like him at all is an honor.”
He squats down, inspecting the cracks snaking along the wall before pacing the living room floor.
At the sound of a deep creak, he retraces his steps, bending to press his fingers against the spot.
Without warning, he begins jumping up and down, his work boots echoing off the floorboards. I laugh from the shock of it.
“Pier and beam. That’s great,” he mumbles to himself.
I shouldn’t find it intoxicating to watch his face harden in concentration as he inspects the wood floor, as he flicks light switches on and off, as he strides into the kitchen to test the water and stove.
The look on his face is so boyish, focused.
I remember being obsessed with figuring out how to become the object of that focus. And I had always been a high achiever.
“Still gas powered. That’s nice. I don’t like all the electric stoves they put in homes these days,” he comments.
“How do you know so much”—I gesture at the oven he just tried—“about all this? Houses? Building?”
“What? Turning a stove on and off?”
“No,” I spit indignantly. “That’s not what I meant.”
I can feel him grin. He turns around, hands resting behind his back as he leans on the kitchen sink. This man looks like he was born to lean on things.
“I learned a lot. From the coffee shop,” he says, eyes holding mine.
“The coffee shop,” I repeat, feeling left out of something obvious.
“Mm-hmm,” he hums. “This house is amazing, Blair. Lottie left you quite the gem.” He moves on swiftly, exiting the kitchen. There’s one small bathroom and a laundry machine closet on the other side of the house.
“Yeah, I agree. She’s very quaint, but… very nice,” I call to his back as I sink into the living room couch. “So, you don’t see any glaring problems with it?”
“Eh,” he says, voice calm. “Minor touch-ups are probably the only thing you’d need, but they seem mostly cosmetic, which is awesome.
The foundation seems sturdy, and I don’t feel any uneven spots.
All the doors are opening and closing smoothly.
That’s just my opinion from the naked eye, though.
You’ll know for sure after getting the inspection done. ”
That eases the pressure in my chest a little.
“Right. The inspection,” I repeat, my obvious lack of knowledge revealing itself.
“Oh, that stuff is easy. I can help you out.” He slides the doors to the laundry unit closed and joins me on the living room couch, weight shifting the cushions as he plops down beside me.
He throws his arms out, draping the back of the couch, careful not to graze my shoulders. “So, where’s your head at?”
I stare at the TV in front of me, trying to ignore the way it feels like an invisible wall of heat is lighting up the skin on my back where his arm hovers, just a slight lean away.
“My head is all over the place if you want me to be honest,” I say, dread lacing my voice.
“And I do.”
I glare at him facetiously and then look back at the coffee table in front of me, wondering if Lottie’s hands touched every item decorating it.
“I mean, this place is beautiful, obviously. Seabrook is beautiful. And now I have a house here that is truly unbelievable. Like in the literal sense. I-do-not-believe-this-is-real-yet, unbelievable. But I’m not taking it for granted.
At least, I think I’m not taking it for granted.
” I exhale. “It just wasn’t what I planned.
Throwing away everything I’ve worked for the past four years feels reckless to me.
I’m trying to figure out if I can feel what I thought I’d feel there, here. ”
Declan is silent, and the moment I decide to look at him, I know it’s a mistake.
His eyes are deep pools, and I’ve jumped in. I feel the panic of my feet not reaching the ground.
“I get that.”
His words land in my chest with a satisfying click like clock hands overlapping at midnight.
He practically spent his entire life working for a career he never got to achieve.
He never planned on staying in Seabrook, and yet, here he was.
He probably understood what I was feeling in this moment better than I understood how I was feeling.
Our eyes hold for another beat, and I can see him contemplating something.
I see the moment something shifts, and he decides to speak.
“Is it okay for me to admit that I’m really glad you’re back?” he says in a voice so low it rumbles.
My body buzzes, taking note of his shoulder an inch from mine. My eyes frantically search his face, looking desperately for a clue as to why he would say that. But all they find is anguish, written in the lines by his eyes as they search mine pleadingly, waiting for my response. My mouth goes dry.
“Can I admit something, too?” I say so quietly he has to lean in.
He nods infinitesimally for me to go on, but I bite my lip, not ready for how the air would change if I said what I wanted to.
“You can say it, Blair. I probably deserve it,” he urges. The last part is so soft, I think I’ve imagined it.
“I—” I exhale, frustrated before I’ve even begun. “I think part of me wants to stay. Just not if—”
“Hi! Hi!” A shrill, high-pitched voice calls as the front door swings open.
Declan stands up slowly, putting room between our bodies on the couch like we weren’t just veering toward territory we’ve avoided for years.
“Oopsies! Already unlocked,” she says with a laugh, wiggling the key out of the door. Her blond hair reaches the top of her skirt as she walks through the living room, one stiletto-heeled foot at a time.
At once, I am very grateful that I asked Declan to be here. My mind can’t think clearly through the fog of ancient desire and grief coursing through my body.
She struts up to us at the couch, hair swishing back and forth, texting furiously with long, neon yellow manicured fingers.
“I’m Emily!” she says, mouth parting into a grin as she shakes Declan’s hand.
“Declan. Nice to meet you.” He gives her a closed-mouth smile. It accentuates his dimple. “And this is Blair. The one this home actually belongs to.”
I give her a distracted nod.
“Oh! Perfect. Well, nice to meet you guys. Since I can see that you’ve already taken a look around, I’m assuming this meeting is because you’re ready to put it on the market?”
Put it on the market? The words were a concept I’d heard before, but I couldn’t process that the question was being directed at me.
My mind was still muddied by the shock of her death and the existence of this house.
How was I supposed to decide like it was a game of rock, paper, scissors?
Wasn’t there a rule about not making big decisions for six months after a life change?
Declan takes notice of the panic on my face and jumps in to respond.
“Actually, Blair is interested in exploring her options before making a decision.” His tone is kind but firm.
It’s the same tone he uses when he’s delegating tasks to the employees at the coffee shop.
And even through my panic, I find watching him take the reins of the situation without being domineering attractive.
Definitely not what I’m supposed to be contemplating right now, I chastise myself.
“Oh, okay!” She stops texting. “Well, for a property like this, you could have a nice nest egg for yourself.” She looks me up and down. “Especially for someone so young.”
Funny. She didn’t look at Declan like he was so young.
“We’re looking at about six hundred seventy-eight square feet. Tiny, but walking distance to the ocean in this part of town…” She flips through something on her phone. “You’re probably looking at about one point two,” she finishes, looking up at Declan.
One point two? As in a hundred twenty thousand dollars? That would be more than a nice nest egg, that could be enough to—
“Million,” Declan clarifies, looking at me.
“MILLION?” I blurt, forgetting myself and the fact that Emily is staring at us.
“I’ll give you two some privacy.” She manages to look like someone rolling their eyes without actually doing the motion before walking to the kitchen to continue texting.
“M-million? Are you messing with me?” I clamp my hand over my mouth to stop the onslaught of nervous rambling I feel making its way up my chest.
Declan seems to be fighting a smile.
“Why are you laughing? Are you being serious?” I plead.
“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing.” He’s literally laughing. “It’s just, I thought you knew that.”
I stare at him, stupefied.