Even two months after their breakup, she could still hear his voice. His disdain.
She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt. Her worry stone—amethyst for calm—slid into her palm, awelcome and familiar weight. She rubbed her thumb against the smooth, cool surface as she contemplated her first tiny house possibility.
She turned to Sebastián. “What do you think?”
“What I think isn’t important.” He stepped closer to her, his black hair shining almost blue in the dappled forest sunlight. “This experience is all about you. So what are your initial thoughts?”
She bit her lip. “I’d hoped it would be a bit bigger.”
At least two hundred square feet, as she’d told Allie. Big enough for Hairy Garcia, her energetic golden retriever. Big enough to have room for her massage table.
“Well, you wanted a tiny house!” Allie laughed, but her eyes narrowed in warning. “You need to be realistic, Lucy.”
A comment she’d heard before, too many times. Lucy studied the leaves underfoot, her thumb circling and circling.
“I believe she asked for at least two hundred square feet.” Sebastián widened his stance, his right eyebrow cocked. “This is significantly smaller than that.”
Her shoulders unknotted, and she let out a slow breath of relief. Yes. Yes, that was exactly what she’d have said to Allie, if only she’d had enough confidence in her own position.
Typical Sebastián: always on her side, always her champion. From the very beginning.
Ever since he’d transferred to Marysburg High as a junior, he’d defended her from anything that might hurt her, even while he’d fended off countless bullies of his own. Too many of their classmates had proven eager to hassle the new kid in school, a Guatemalan-American boy who hadn’t grown tall or strong until well after graduation. A boy who refused to cower or back down no matter what was said or done to him. A boy who gradually shut off all visible emotional reactions to make himself an unsatisfying target for his persecutors.
A boy who became her best and most faithful friend.
Her battles, her wounds, had not been nearly as vicious or bloody as his. Still, he’d tried to protect her to the best of his ability. He might not have ever expressed his affection for her in words—she suspected he might not even beableto do so, not anymore—but he’d demonstrated that affection so many times she couldn’t doubt it.
Behind a fold of her skirts, where the camera couldn’t see the gesture, she took his hand in hers. It was broad and warm and strong now, vital and electric. A man’s hand, not a boy’s. But it was still the hand of the best champion an easily hurt teenage girl could have had. She gave his fingers a squeeze of gratitude, and then let him go, before someone could draw the wrong conclusion about them.
Someone like her, for example.
She’d always thought that someday, maybe…
But it wasn’t going to happen. Not now, as she prepared to move halfway across the country. No matter how enticing he appeared in that formfitting Henley and those well-worn jeans. No matter how soft and warm his eyes became when he looked at her. No matter how her fingers tingled when they touched.
The camerawoman moved closer to Allie, capturing her tight smile in response to Sebastián’s matter-of-fact challenge.
“Yes, Lucy wanted a slightly bigger house. But the supply of tiny houses in this area of Virginia is limited, as you know. That said, I’m sure we’ll find a great option among the choices I’ve located. Lucy just needs to be flexible.” Allie headed for the door, which rose high above the forest floor because of the trailer beneath the house. “Let’s go inside.”
Lucy let Allie and the crew precede her. Sebastián stayed by her side, as she’d anticipated.
Unsure of the boom mic’s range, she spoke in a whisper. “I’m concerned about the condition of the house. It seems more weathered than I’d hoped. And I think it’s too small for my needs, although the inside could be very charming.” She paused. “In a hobbit-enthusiast sort of way. I hadn’t pictured living on the wrong side of the tracks in the Shire.”
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, the telltale sign he was fighting a smile.
“Come on. Spill it.” She poked his arm with her free hand, startled as always by the feel of firm muscle beneath her fingertip. The foreign, enticing hardness made her want to linger, to slide her fingertips up over his shoulders and down that straight, strong back of his. Instead, she dropped her hand to her side. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
When he raised his face, a small smile had cracked his stoic features. “I wonder whether the price includes cookie-making elves.”
She giggled and deposited the worry stone back in her pocket. “I’m pretty sure Allie would have mentioned that.”
“I hope she forgot. Because this place should definitely contain a tiny elven fudge-filled-cookie factory, given the asking price and the condition.” Arms akimbo, he stared up at the cabin, his grin fading. “If it doesn’t, I’d hesitate before buying.”
“At least it’s towable, once I get a truck.” She peered at the trailer beneath the house. “Since it’s approximately the size of my childhood dollhouse.”
A shallow furrow in his brow appeared for a split second. “Before we go inside, I need to know more about what you want. Just how soon do you need a house? How far will you have to tow it? And how often do you think you’ll move?”
They should have discussed the logistics of her move weeks earlier, of course, but they hadn’t. On her side, because the prospect of leaving Marysburg seemed muchmore fraught, much more painful, when Seb was within touching distance. On his side…
