When we hang up, I stare at the paint scraper in my hand like it's going to explain what just happened.
Bo Gates.
Living thirty yards from my back door.
Using my kitchen. My coffee. My space.
I set the scraper down and look out the window at the guest house.
It's a good little building. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchenette that Mrs. Anderson's daughter probably would've loved if she'd ever gotten the chance to use it. The cabinets are painted soft gray. The floors are refinished. The windows let in enough light to make the whole place feel bigger than it is.
It just needs a few things.
A stove. A fridge that works. A sink that's actually hooked up to the plumbing instead of just sitting there looking decorative.
Which means Bo's going to need to use my kitchen.
For coffee. For meals. For?—
I shut that thought down fast.
It's fine. It's practical. It's temporary.
Tyler had always been funny about Bo and me, like there was some unspoken rule I didn't make but was expected to follow anyway.
And I did follow it.
For years.
But now Bo's back, and I just offered him a place to stay, and my heart won't stop pounding.
I grab the scraper and get back to work, but my hands are shaking.
An hour later, three windows down and feeling a littlebetter about my progress, I crossed the yard to the guest house.
Frank was on his fence post watching me go, deeply focused on what I was doing; at least he wasn’t pecking the back of my heels, a habit he’s taken to when he follows me around the coop and goat pen. Dispatch was sunning herself on the barn roof and couldn't be bothered to look up at all. She was a princess one moment and the devil the next.
Each step echoes the thought of Bo staying so close.
I open the door and stare at the space I'd only looked at that one time when I toured the property before I bought the ranch. Back then, it had felt like potential. Now it just feels... close.
The house looks pretty much how I remember it.
Bright windows. Great color. Mostly clean. Mrs. Anderson had done great work here before her health declined.
The air inside is still and cool. Dust motes drift through the light coming in from the south-facing window.
I brought a quilt over last month, a pale blue and white one. Just a little something to cover the bed, because leaving it empty felt wrong.
I walk through slowly, taking inventory.
Bedroom: good.
Bathroom: fully functional.
Kitchenette: pretty but useless.
The sink sits there like a piece of art, farmhouse style, white porcelain, completely unhooked. There's a mini fridge in the corner that hums when it feels like it, which is never when you actually need it to. No stove. No dishwasher. No laundry setup.
