My palms are sweaty as I wait on the sidewalk. It’s three minutes to two, and she isn’t here yet. Maybe that kid lied and didn’t hand her the bag like I paid him to. Pulling out my cell, I check for any messages, but that’s sadly empty, no missed calls or texts.
She’s not coming.
I don’t even blame her.
I sabotaged her chance of happiness. Lied to her. Betrayed her trust.
Fuck, it’s bad.
I’ve lost her.
Shoving my hands through my hair, I tug on the strands to try and stop the incoming crash out, but then the sound of tires rolling up catches my attention. I snap my head toward the cab as it comes to a stop at the sidewalk. A few seconds later, my cricket appears, her scrapbook tucked close to her chest.
She looks tired. Her dark hair has been braided and pulled away from her face, but dark circles line beneath her eyes; the shadows telling of a restless night. I doubt I look much better, but I was too much of a coward to look this morning.
“Cricket,” I rasp when she stops in front of me, her eyes bouncing from me to the house behind me.
“Hi,” she eventually says, her voice soft.
“You got my note.”
She dips her chin in a nod. “How did you even get the coffee shop to put that in?”
I rub the nape of my neck. “I uh, didn’t. I went myself and then paid some kid to bring it to you.”
Sidney stares at me for a moment, her brows lifted high. “You paid a kid to deliver it?”
“I wasn’t sure what else to do,” I cringe.
With a shake of her head, she turns her attention to the house. We’re in the suburbs, not too far from where her sister lives, but this area is a little quieter with fewer houses. It backs onto some meadows and woods, the city where we both call home hiding behind them. The skyscrapers and smog concealed by lush green leaves and rolling hills full of wildflowers.
“What are we doing here, Noah?” She asks, but I can tell by the look on her face that she knows what this place is.
Slowly, I reach for her scrapbook, asking without words for her to give it to me. I’ve looked through it a thousand times, but this time feels different. She hands it over, and I immediately go to the page I have memorized.
She filled the spread shortly after we both graduated college and moved into the city, taking the clippings from magazines or printed them out from the realtor’s website.
This house.
It had been left abandoned some time ago, but a couple bought it and completely renovated it, turning it from a shell into a home. It had made the local news for whatever reason and Sid had hyper focused on it. She watched the restoration religiously, and when it was done, she told me her dream of owning something like it one day.
It had taken some negotiating and a lot of money, but after she had told me, I’d made it my goal to buy it for her.
“It’s the house,” she whispers with wide eyes.
“It is,” I confirm.
“Oh my god,” she steps closer to the picket fence, “It’s so much better in person. How did you find it?”
It was the only thing missing from all the reports. The address.
“Some friends in high places,” is all I tell her. “Do you want to see inside?”
“We can go inside?”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the key, “If you want to.”
“Please,” she says, her eyes still focused on the house of her dreams. Opening the gate, I offer her ahead of me and then step in behind her, latching it before we walk down the paved path. Lush green lawn spreads out on either side, completely fenced in to allow privacy and security. Flower beds are filled with vibrant plants, and a small play area has been erected in the backyard, complete with a swing and slide. Brand new. Never used.
