The stairs lead up to a short hallway with two doors. Maya pushes open the right one and gestures for us to go in.
“Ta-da,” she says. “Home sweet home for the weekend.”
The room is beautiful in that understated, expensive way that only truly wealthy people seem to master. White walls, a cathedral ceiling with exposed beams, and a whole wall of windows overlooking the lake. Built-in bookshelves line one wall, filled with well-worn hardcovers and a few scattered decorative objects. The king-size bed dominates the space,covered in crisp white linens and more pillows than any two people could possibly need.
“Bathroom’s through there,” Maya says, pointing to a door on the far wall. “I’ll leave you guys to get settled. Come over to the Main Cottage when you’re ready for lunch.”
She gives me a look I can’t quite interpret—something between curiosity and amusement—before backing out of the room and pulling the door closed behind her.
The second she’s gone, Connor lets go of my hand, and I immediately miss the contact. The skin where his fingers touched mine still tingles, and I flex my hand automatically.
Connor sets our bags on the floor near the closet and walks to the window, his back to me.
“This place is really nice,” he says, gazing out at the lake.
I let out a hollow laugh, suddenly self-conscious. The East Cottage alone probably costs more per night than either of us pays in rent for a month.
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Let me guess, you want to know why I live in that shithole back home if my parents are rich?”
Connor turns around, one eyebrow raised, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not a shithole,” he says. “And you don’t owe me any explanation.”
My face heats. Of course I don’t. Connor wouldn’t have asked anyway—he’s not the type to pry. Meanwhile I apparently can’t stop word-vomiting all my insecurities at him.
“Right,” I say, looking away. “Sorry. Force of habit. People usually ask.”
Connor doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching me.
“I turned down their money,” I explain anyway. “After college. Wanted to make it on my own. Turns out that’s way harder than I expected. But backing out now would be stupid and kind of pathetic, so I make it work.”
I expect him to say how privileged I am to even have that choice—to figure it all out while knowing I can never truly fail, because I’ll always have the safety net of my parents. But he simply says, “Makes sense,” and nods, like my explanation is enough for him.
Something in my chest loosens a fraction. I move toward the bed, running my hand over the pristine white duvet. If Connor’s judging me, he’s doing a great job hiding it.
“So,” I say, eager to change the subject. “Apparently Rick and Cassidy are staying in this cottage with us.”
“They are?”
“Yup. It’s a fucking disaster,” I blurt, the anxiety creeping back in. “What was my mom thinking? I’m going to be trapped in the same building with my ex-boyfriend and his perfect new girlfriend. We’ll run into them in the hallway, share a kitchen, probably bump into each other in the middle of the night trying to get a glass of water.” I drag a hand through my hair. “God, it’s going to be awkward.”
“Hope the walls are soundproof,” Connor says mildly.
My head snaps up. “What?”
“The walls,” he repeats. “Between the bedrooms.”
The implications hit me all at once. Rick and Cassidy. In bed. Together. Having sex.
“Oh God,” I groan, flopping backward onto the mattress with my hands covering my face. “I didn’t even think about that. That’s—Jesus. No. I don’t want to hear them. I don’t want to think about them.”
The bed dips as Connor sits on the edge. “I was kidding,” he says.
“But you’re right. What if we can hear everything?” I press my palms harder against my eyes. “I can’t believe my mom did this to me.”
“She doesn’t know he’s your ex,” Connor reminds me.
“Right. But still.”
After a beat, Connor says, “I like your mom.” There’s a smile in his voice. “She seems nice.”
