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Riley’s place has neighbors on either side but not close. It’s a double or maybe even a triple lot with a big garage out front, a big square building behind it that has three garage doors, and then there’s the house beside the smaller garage. It’s a big house. And it’s cute as a button. It’s Victorian style, not too dissimilar from Aunt Mimi’s house on the coast. This one is white with black shutters and black trim. Two stories with a tall, peaked roof. The front of the house is dominated by a white porch that goes left and wraps around one side. Two dark wood rocking chairs with a little table between them grace the porch and the table has a little wooden lighthouse with ‘welcome’ on it. There are colorful flowers in the flowerbeds, rosebushes climbing a trellis along the side going up to a second floor which has a little peak over the half-hexagon bump-out window that I really hope is the master bedroom, because that could be a little reading nook right there, which would be amazing. And there’s a waist-high white picket fence all the way around it. My dream happily-ever-after had a white picket fence in a small town where everyone is close. And my dream is coming true.
There’s also a little red hatchback car in the driveway. Before I get a chance to ask about the car, as it doesn’t seem Riley’s style, he pipes up.
“What do you think at first glance?”
“It’s amazing,” I say with a big smile. “Can we paint the house black and the front door and the shutters orange?”
He parks beside the red car and laughs as if I’m joking.
“Grew up here. Big yard in the back. Little potting shed. Garden. Mom used to grow vegetables every year. Couple fruit trees back there, too. Fire pit. Barbecue.”
“Can I have a sunroom greenhouse built?” I ask. “If there’s room? Like the one Bailey’s parents have? And maybe a second-story balcony off the master?”
“Helped Dad build that for the Blackwoods back in the day. I’ll build you a greenhouse, little witch. No problem on the balcony. Can build a greenhouse directly off the kitchen. There’s a door already there with two steps down into the back yard.” He gestures toward the side where the porch wraps around. “Can put it right there so you can walk straight out into it from the house.”
I smile wide, clapping my hands. “That’d be amazing.”
He drops a kiss on my shoulder. “Look around and anything else you want done, I’ll hook you up.”
“I have everything I want,” I say, leaning close so I can plant a big, wet kiss on him. He deepens it and I’m the one to break it, asking, “Any objection if I paint rooms black or red or cover every surface with glitter?”
“Not as long as you’re in my bed every night,” he says. “Paint the whole thing tie-dye if you want.”
His eyes bounce over my shoulder.
I hear a beep-beep and see the red car’s hatch rise.
A blonde ponytailed lady with an uncertain expression approaches the red car’s open hatch and I know she saw us making out. She’s dressed in yoga clothes and carrying a basket of cleaning supplies and a vacuum cleaner.
She also has green eyes. Riley’s mom. She’s fit and attractive and does not look remotely happy.
“Mom, hey.” Riley greets, letting go of me and getting out of the truck. He rounds it and pulls her into a hug.
I should’ve known this was a possibility.
Riley then opens the door and tugs my hand so that I get out.
I’m super-self-conscious. I can’t read her mind, but I’m imagining what she’s thinking. I hurt her son and she’s devastated that I’m here. My heart is lodged in my throat.
I’m incredibly self-conscious, too. I’d put my unruly hair up in a bun this morning, but Riley promptly pulled the hair band out so it’s everywhere. I’m not even wearing shoes. And I’m wearing my patchwork earthtones dress. Riley wanted it on me to carry me over the threshold, as it should’ve been done seven years ago. It’s a little snug now and low-cut V-neck. When I used to wear it, I wore it with a tank top underneath. I’m not right now, so my cleavage is kind of spilling out of it a little bit. We didn’t even shower this morning. Just had sex, coffee, packed up and drove here. I’m sure I look like a homeless harlot.
“Mom, this is my mate, Erica. Baby, Lucy Savage.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Savage,” I extend my hand.
She shakily takes mine and swallows hard before pulling it away quickly. “Hello,” she rasps and then turns to her son. “I cleaned up and stocked you up.” She points at the house. Her hand is trembling.
