Page 43 of Love At Peace

Chapter 16

Roarke

Iwasn’t sold on the layout of the dining room and that small bathroom, but the bare bones were there to work with. This house had potential, unlike the other places I saw last week. More than that, this house offered hope. It wasn’t derelict and falling apart, but not so updated that it would justify taking some portions down to the studs and making it my own.

If I wanted to expand the kitchen... I could push that wall in there...

Keeping my eyes narrowed, I tried to see the place with a blueprint perspective, guessing at this stage which walls would be load-bearing ones that I would have to work with.

“Or...” I mumbled out loud to myself, glad that the young, noob of a realtor was out on the back porch, on a call, instead of hovering over me in here as I looked and considered the possibilities.

“Or if I knocked out this one,” I whispered, stuck in this preliminary renovation mentality. I walked closer to the wall but stopped to look to my right when I noticed movement in my peripheral vision. “Hey, I’m—”

I shut up on the spot. Seeing Heather walking toward me silenced me.

It wasn’t the realtor, as I suspected it would be. He was the only other person here, since, according to him, no one else was biting at this property.

“Heather?” I asked as a greeting, stupidly.

Clearly it was her. She looked the same. Gorgeous and tense. Yet, I was surprised.

When we looked at this listing on my phone together, her intrigue about this house was hard to miss. But I couldn’t have counted on her to come see it.

What are you doing here?

“Hi.” Her neck strained as she swallowed. It was all the visual cues I needed to know she was very nervous.

“What’s up?” I asked, hating how lame it sounded. Since my talk with Gavin, I knew I needed to listen to his advice. I had to apologize to her. And, whenever I figured out how I could pull it off, I had to grovel, too. Because I hadn’t thought of a grand plan to accomplish those things after the busy week I’d had, I felt like she was catching me unprepared and off-guard.

“I was hoping to talk.”

I furrowed my brow, exaggerating my disbelief by pointing at myself then looking around, as if she could’ve been referring to someone else. “You want to talk to me?”

She rolled her eyes and looked aside. “Don’t be an ass...” she warned gently, as if she could take a joke but didn’t want to.

“The last I heard, you were done with me.”

She shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “I am.”

I narrowed my eyes, lost and hating how rapidly my hope deflated. The surprise of seeing her waned.

“I was,” she corrected.

“O...kay?” I shrugged. “What do you want, Heather?”

“I said. I want to talk. To, um, clear the air.”

Finally. Fucking finally! After all this time of wishing she’d want to confide in me, she was showing interest in doing it at last. No more wondering. No more begging for her to trust me and open up. No more waiting and dwelling and guessing and speculating.

She was taking the initiative to talk to me. To clear the air.

It seemed that I wouldn’t have to figure out a way to approach her. She was doing it now. She had taken this first step toward me, and I was overwhelmed with the relief that she was.

If she was seeking me out, that had to mean I still mattered to her.

If she was braving the tension to reach out to me and express the desire to chat, that had to signify she wasn’t happy with the way we’d left things between us.

“You do?” I asked, wanting to make sure.