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Thoughts of Alex kept entering my head without permission as I slipped into my pajamas. I was still trying to wrap my mind around the idea he had the hots for me. He didn’t seem the type to like anyone, let alone have a full-blown crush. Yet I couldn’t stop thinking that perhaps Tatiana was right. Maybe I had to look closer at Alex before shutting that door of possibilities because he looked back at me when he could’ve kept looking forward.
Oh gosh.
My bare minimum dating bar? It was skirting pretty close to hell’s quarters.
The delusional part of my brain could understand him being into me, though. I couldn’t blame him, of course. I did look extra nice that evening in my overalls and crop top shirt. The stench of wet dog that covered me from my workday had to be a massive turn-on for him.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d had wildly inappropriate dreams about me for the remainder of the week.
CHAPTER 9
Alex
Every time I read Teresa’s diaries, Honey Creek added another point to it being at the top of my hatred list. How they treated her and her family when they moved from Madrid to the small town drove me mad.
I visited her house to meet the real estate agent helping me put it on the market. Todd Graceson was supposed to be one of the best real estate agents in all of Chicago. I knew he was good, too, seeing as he was the one who sold me the property years ago when my career took off. When Teresa found out I was moving to Chicago from Madrid, she packed her bag that night. She said, “A donde vayas, yo voy.”
Where you go, I go.
That was over twelve years ago. I only moved out of Teresa’s home in Chicago when I went to live with Catie for a few years. For the most part, that place raised me. Those hallways had stories. Those closets had history. Teresa loved our home, and I loved that I could buy it for her. Seeing as how she raised me in Madrid in her small, two-bedroom apartment, giving her a home big enough for us both to explore and spread out felt good.
The kitchen was her favorite part. She told me that when I built my forever home, I needed a kitchen three times its size. And the one she had was pretty damn big.
I’d miss her late-night coffees at that kitchen island, and I’d miss our morning whiskeys.
With her gone, I had no reason to hold on to the property now with her gone. The house that had once been a home to me was now being put on the market. The warmth Teresa added to it had evaporated through the walls the day she passed away. Now the space felt hollow.
My phone began ringing as Todd walked through the space. It was Noah again. He’d called me for the past few hours, checking in about tomorrow's funeral.
I’d been ignoring him.
I wasn’t in the mood to tell him I wasn’t going. I’d deal with him scolding me after the event took place.
“Well, it looks remarkable,” Todd told me as he walked back into the kitchen. “And I am very confident that with all the renovations you put into it, we can get more than triple what you bought this place for. If you can just sign some paperwork, we can get it listed, and—”
“Not yet,” I cut in, feeling a chill race throughout me. An unease that found me whenever he brought up the idea of listing the property. This was the third time he came out to meet me, and the third time I told him to wait.
His brows knitted. “I’m sorry? I thought—”
“I was wrong,” I told him. “At least not today. I thought I could do the paperwork today, but I’m not ready. Not with tomorrow being…” I cleared my throat and combed my hand through my hair. “Can we meet next week?”
Todd’s defeated look was warranted. I felt like I was becoming a major pain in his ass and wasting his time. But it would be worth it when I signed the paperwork. When I let it go. He’d get his fair cut to compensate for my twisted mind and flawed follow-through.
I’d get there one day.
Just not today.
Just not yet.
Once Todd left, I stayed in the house, sitting at the kitchen island in complete darkness. As the sun went down, my anxiety went up. I battled between going to the funeral and not. How was I supposed to do that, anyhow? How did one say goodbye to the person who saved them repeatedly?
I stared into the darkness a little longer before tossing on my shoes, grabbing my keys, and heading out the front door. I couldn’t sit any longer. I needed to move. I needed to cook. I needed to get down to Isla Iberia and cook a few of Teresa’s favorite meals.
