Chapter 12
The house is dark and quiet when I get out of my car and slam the door a little harder than necessary. I’m not upset, exactly. My mom being gone means no pressure on me, so I can do whatever I want whenever I want. Hell, she isn’t even around to critique my taste in pizza or my milkshake obsession.
And I can order as much delivery as I want without her reminding me we have food in the fridge and not to waste my money.
Still, there’s something like loneliness creeping up my spine to invade the space between my ribs.
Sometimes, no matter how hard I work to convince myself otherwise, I don’t want to be alone.
Tonight is easily one of those times.
On the porch I stop, staring down at my black and white sneakers with scuffs along the toes. They’re worn in and comfortable, and I shift my weight on the welcome mat Mom brought home from a trip into Akron last week.
It is, of course, not Halloween themed at all.
The hair at the back of my neck prickles, and before I can think of what I’m doing, I turn to look behind me, toward the street.
Somehow, I’m not surprised when my eyes find Cass. He’s leaning against a sleek back car, and even though he’s too far away for me to see the details of his face and the setting sun has cast him in shadow, I still know what he’s looking at.
Me.
I tell myself the only reason I’m doing this is because my week has been a bitch and I’m lonely as hell. I tell myself he won’t do anything, anyway.
I tell myself it’ll be fine when I leave the door open behind me and stride into my mom’s two-story, cookie-cutter suburban home. It isn’t quite like Lou’s—there’s maybe a two hundred square foot difference—but it’s similar enough that I’m pretty sure the same designer worked on both.
Though honestly, there’s not a lot that’s unique about either house. Not the white walls and light hardwood floors that line the first level, nor the staircase that marches straight up to a railed landing that’s open over the front door and foyer.
The only reason I feel comfortable leaving the door open is because I know Mom closes the cats into my bathroom when our housekeeper is coming over, and she always comes on Thursdays.
Unless she’s done a full one-eighty, that’s where they are now with her not being here and the house shining like it only does on the day of a cleaning.
I wander into the kitchen, tugging off my hoodie as I go and drop it on one of the chairs tucked under the small table against the windows.
Like Lou, we have a breakfast nook and a sliding glass door that leads to our yard, though instead of a concrete patio like my sister, we have an actual deck with a fire pit and comfortable lawn furniture.
Back from when Mom actually tried to hang around and spend time with me. When she was still faking it and trying to move past what happened instead of reliving it every time she looked my way.
The front door closes, pulling me out of my thoughts just as I pull a bottle of Dr. Pepper out of the fridge. There’s no other noise, though, and when I look up to see Cassian leaning against the doorframe, I jump and nearly drop my drink.
“Jesus,” I breathe. “Make some fucking noise or something, Cassian. What are you, a ghost?” It’s hard not to ramble when I’m nervous, and my brain to mouth filter is clearly malfunctioning today.
“You shouldn’t leave your front door open.” His tone is just a little admonishing, and he doesn’t move from his spot in the doorframe. “What if your cats had gotten out?”
“They’re closed in my bathroom since the housekeeper was here,” I dismiss his concern.
“I like my cats more than I could ever like a person. Did you really think I’d take a chance of them being able to run out the door into the big bad world?
They’re too delicate to survive.” The statement isn’t quite true.
They did pretty well on their own before I befriended them and brought them inside to live a life of luxury.
“No.” Cassian rolls his shoulders in a shrug and just…stands there.
“God, that’s so creepy.” I shudder theatrically. “Do you want a Dr. Pepper?” I’m already going to the fridge again as I say it, and I don’t need him to answer before I set another bottle down on the counter.
“I didn’t say yes.” Cass pushes off the wall and steps into the softly lit kitchen. His hand goes out and he lifts the bottle to break the seal. “Thanks.”
“I may have blocked out a lot of my childhood, but I still remember what soda you like,” I reply dryly, lifting my bottle into the air like I’m giving a toast.
“Blocked it out, huh?” He sits down quietly in one of the chairs at the table, though his eyes never leave mine. “Where’s your mom?”
It’s not the question I’m expecting, and I lean my hips back into the counter behind me.
“Well, don’t you know just how to ruin the mood.
” It’s not a question, and I tap my fingers along the cold plastic of the bottle.
“Can we not do this in the kitchen? The cats need to be let out and when Mom isn’t here, I usually hang out mostly in my room.
” Up there, with the cats close, I tend to feel less lonely.
“We can go wherever you want, Winnie.” The way he says it has me glancing at him as I walk by on my way to the stairs, but I don’t stop. No matter how much I want to challenge him on what he means by that.
I nearly trip up the stairs in an attempt to look nonchalant, and judging by the snort I hear from behind me, Cassian definitely noticed.
But I just keep walking, pretending like I haven’t done anything embarrassing.
Reaching the bathroom door, I push it open slowly, watching the two still-scruffy cats creep their way out of the bathroom, Doom immediately trotting over to twine around Cassian’s legs.
Predictably, Gloom streaks away down the hall, disappearing into my room to, most likely, hide in the abyss of my closet.
“Your room, right?” Cass asks, effortlessly scooping Doom up onto his shoulder. I think about warning him that Doom is fickle and likes to bite ears…but then realize that would ruin the potential joy of seeing Cassian with my cat hanging off his earlobe.
So I don’t.
Instead, I lead the way to my room that takes up a good section of the second floor, pushing the door all the way open and glancing around for anything embarrassing on my floor. But thanks to the housekeeper to whom I owe my firstborn, it actually looks pretty clean and well-kept.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, tossing my keys on top of my dresser and toeing off my shoes.
“I forgot you’ve been in here before and could’ve found it all on your own.
” Absently, I yank open one of the heavy wooden drawers of my dresser, finding a pair of running shorts and a tee to change into from my waitress uniform.
Not that my black pants and plain, long-sleeved shirt are uncomfortable, exactly.
I just don’t like wearing pants or long sleeves when I can help it.
“Not that hard to find, really,” Cassian replies sweetly. He sits down on the bed, letting Doom clamber down to purr and nudge his arm. “All I had to do was follow the aggressive snoring.”
That stops me on the way back to the bathroom to change, and I turn to look at him, expression flat and lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t snore.”
“Sure, sweetheart.” He grins at me. “You can believe that if you want. I’ll let you.” His eyes fall to the clothes in my arms, then flick back up to my face. “Where are you going?” he asks, like somehow it didn’t sink in from seeing what I’m holding.
To help him out I hold up the comfortable clothes and shake them at him.
“To change. Did you want something to change into as well? I have a great selection of yoga pants, leggings, and running shorts for your perusal. Not to mention all kinds of shirts with questionable designs or shitty quotes on them.” I don’t smile as I say it, maintaining my solemn look of seriousness.
Cassian rolls his eyes and settles back on his hands. “You always make me regret asking.” He sighs heavily, though his lips twitch into a small grin as he says it.
“I can make you regret breathing if I try hard enough.” He snorts at my words, shaking his head as I shift the clothes from one hand to the other. “May I go now, O curious one?”
“Of course, my subject.” He bows from where he’s sitting, dramatic in his movements. “Don’t let me keep you from your evening tasks.”
“Then by your leave.” It’s a bad habit of mine to always want the last word, but before he can reply, I’m out the door and heading for the guest bath.
It’s not as nice as mom’s ensuite, obviously.
But it’s bigger than a lot of other guest bathrooms I’ve been in.
There’s a large tub against the wall and the lights over the mirror are nicer than they have a right to be. Even in the suburbs.
Quickly, I strip out of my work clothes, changing into my shorts and tee, before I bundle up my uniform in my hands and start to leave.
Until I catch sight of myself in the mirror and stop. Unthinkingly, I’d also taken off my bra. As I do every night. It’s noticeable in my reflection, and I worry Cassian will think I mean something by it.
Do I mean something by it?
The question floats around in my head as I stare at my reflection, until I let out a breath and shake my head. “Stop overthinking it, Winnie,” I whisper, and force myself to leave the bathroom, following the same path back to my room as always.
Cassian is no longer on the bed when I return.
He’s standing in front of the bay window, peering out through a small gap in my blackout curtains.
He doesn’t turn to look at me when I come in, nor when I drop my clothes in my overflowing laundry hamper by the door.
I’ll get to them. Eventually. When I run out of clean underwear.