“Would you consider moving into my place?”
When I say nothing, he continues. “Hear me out. I bought the house only four months ago. Selling it now would totally fuck me over with mortgage penalties and taxes.”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I interrupt him, raising my palm. “I can’t afford to rent your house. I would love to help, but the house has been a rental before. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding someone to live there again.”
“I’m not asking you to pay rent.” He sits back farther in his chair and spins a bracelet around his wrist.
“Be for real.” I glare at him, crossing my arms across my chest.
“Consider it a personal favour. I don’t want to rent it and deal with all that bullshit. You can live there for free, so the house doesn’t sit empty.”
“I can’t live there for free, Logan,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “That’s crazy. You can’t afford that.”
“Let me worry about what I can afford, okay? I wouldn’t make this proposal if I couldn’t.”
“Oh, how could I forget?” I drop my hands to my lap and roll my eyes. “There’s a math genius buried under all those tattoos.”
“You think I’m a genius? Thanks, Beck,” he says with his hand held over his heart.
“I retract that. Not a genius, just insane?”
“Now you’re trying to hurt my feelings.”
He thinks for a moment before saying, “How about you help with the utilities? Electricity. I’ve already paid to heat it for the season.”
“I need some time to think about it, okay?” I ask quietly, worrying my bottom lip. This is ridiculous.
“Great!” He stands and claps his hands together. “I think this would be a fantastic arrangement for all of us. You would reallybe helping me out. Hannah and I have lost a lot of time, and I want us to make a home together.”
“I know. I’ll let you know soon.”
Standing, I make sure I have everything and shut off the light. We are the last two people here, and after yesterday, I appreciate his sticking around and waiting for me to lock up and walking me to the car.
I see him wave to me in the rearview mirror as I pull out of the parking lot and head home.
I love the idea of living in the yellow house. It has a fabulous history.
Logan and his brother, Jackson, grew up there. They referred to it as the yellow house as kids because it was the only yellow house on the block. The name stuck.
When their parents split and his mom left town, she kept it as income property. Multiple students moved in and out over the years. I don’t know who started it, but anytime someone new moved in, they brought a garden gnome to add to the collection she left behind. There are dozens of them scattered around the yard, much to Logan’s dismay.
When he bought the house this past summer, he kept them even though they freaked him out. He told me he read folklore online that they’re good luck and removing them causes misfortune. He’s not taking any chances with that superstition, even though the current number of gnomes is greater than the number of people living on his street.
As I drive back to the trailer, my mind ping-pongs between Braden’s comments yesterday, what’s going on between Ryan and me, and Logan’s offer. I honestly don’t know what to do with any of it.
I should stop procrastinating in making an appointment with my new therapist, Cynthia. I’m sure she’s great, but I don’t feel like unpacking my history—again.
When I pull into the driveway, I see Aunt Maggie’s home and make the impromptu decision to go see her.
“Auntie,” I call out as I knock and open her front door.
“In the kitchen, Sunshine,” she yells back.
When I was a little girl and visited my grandparents here, I was forever being scolded. Stop running. Sit still. Don’t touch that. Be quiet. Everything was pristine and delicate. It wasn’t exactly the right environment for a busy little girl who was excited and wanted to explore.
I’m not sure how Aunt Maggie survived growing up here. Much like me, she laughs a little too loud, enjoys music, bright colours, and collecting trinkets and things she loves. Though my collections must be limited in my small space, Aunt Maggie’s collections flow throughout her large house. Books, plants, crystals, and interesting rocks. Her impressive record collection is decades old.
When I enter the kitchen, Maggie looks up from the meatballs she’s rolling and placing on a baking sheet.
