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If I could just hold out a little longer.
Reality was overriding all my stabs at avoidance. Eventually, I was going to have to move out of the house, no matter how much I wanted to hold onto it.
I craned my neck, but Blake was out of my line of view. I listened for noises from the main house, but all was silent. I tiptoed through my quarters to the slim hallway that joined with the main part of the house.
Still nothing.
I crept into the foyer, hugging the stairs so no one could see me from the front of the house. Huh. Not there either. Where the hell did he go? I peeked around to the living room which led to the back door and porch.
It was a huge trifold door with three stained glass arched windows over it. I’d helped my grandmother design it because neither of us wanted a restricted view of the ocean. Evidently, neither did Blake. I ducked behind a couch and peered around the arm. He hovered at the edge of the porch.
My heart was pounding so loud it was eclipsing all other sounds. All he had to do was open that door with his handy-dandy ownership key, damn him.
But he didn’t.
He smoothed his hand over the banister at the top of the stairs, but didn’t seem to be inclined to come any closer. He put his hands on his hips and tipped his head back, then swiped his hand over his jaw. A very scruffy jaw.
Very unlike him.
Was he actually feeling guilty for firing me?
Good.
I dropped into a cross-legged pose, suddenly conscious of my very unflattering overalls over my very naked self. If he did decide to come inside, there was no real place for me to hide. Not if I was sitting here. But I couldn’t really melt back into the foyer and around the stairs unless he got off the damn porch.
So I was trapped here, behind a ghostly covered sectional.
I crossed my arms, hissing when the buckle dipped to graze my nipple. I really needed to wear a shirt under the stupid thing. But I tended to burn the shirts, and I damn well didn’t have money to buy new ones. And I liked the freedom.
Impatiently, I looked around the room that had been my grandmother’s favorite place in the house. Well, besides the back porch. But in the cooler months like now, she’d sit inside and stare out at the water. Like clockwork, she’d slowly make her way down to the beach and walk the stretch of her property, then come back up and take her daily nap.
She usually blamed it on the fresh sea air, but somewhere between my days in college and spending every waking moment on work, she’d gotten old on me. Over the summer, she’d perked up and started chattering and laughing like she had when I was a girl, but then she was gone.
I’d been teased with the woman who had inspired me to do so much, only to lose her again. It had been an unattended death, but had been ruled as natural causes.
I’d found her on the floor of this very room.
My vision wavered as the memories swamped me. She’d been wearing her lavender silk suit—the one she wore for brunches—and her pearls were scattered on the Aubusson rug as if she’d ripped at them. The doctor had tried to reassure me that there’d been no pain. That her heart had just stopped, but I didn’t really believe it.
I’d been across town delivering one of my commissioned pieces. A mosaic glass table, to be exact. And she’d been here, alone—dying.
A tear broke free and trailed down my cheek. Such an everyday occurrence. She hadn’t even mentioned she’d been feeling under the weather. Not that my grandmother would’ve mentioned it anyway.
I’d even checked in on her and she’d told me to go.
By the time I’d gotten home, it was dark. I’d flipped on the light and seen her.
The tears flowed in earnest as the memories bombarded me. I’d rushed to her and then it was a blur of telephone calls, the ambulance, and nosy neighbors wandering down the beach.
I looked around the room, at the built-in bookcases that used to be filled with my grandmother’s books and little pieces of glass sculpture I’d given her over the years. Now it was just a wash of white nooks and shelves.
A few of the nooks were capped in glass. I’d created a one-of-a-kind bookcase for her over the years. Except two panes were missing now. I brushed away the tears and rolled onto my knees. I glanced outside, but Blake was gone.
I didn’t know if he was really gone or just out of my eye-line.
I waited a few moments, but didn’t see him move back into view. Curiosity had always been a weakness. I crawled to the built-in and hid behind one of the columns that cut off this room from the foyer.
The glass fronts had been pried free. The artwork shattered and scattered over the rug.
