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Her eyes are wide.
There’s something lurking within them. Suspicion, excitement, and something more foreign. Something I can’t identify.
I expected her to be nervous, to have her guard up, but this recent development throws me off. Especially the pinkish excitement lighting up her cheeks.
Now that I think about it, she’s been flushed since she showed up in front of my room.
“Ready?” I ask, taking inventory of her.
At my attention, her head turns away from me, fixed outside the window.
Now that’s more like it.
“As I’ll ever be,” she mutters and latches on to the door handle harder than necessary.
“Come on.”
Together, we walk into the building. She doesn’t know I own it. That it’s one of my many investments.
Well, technically, since it brings in less profit than a fucking lemonade stand, it’s a passion project. A piece of property I bought, renovated, and transformed for the sake of my mother.
When the time came, I wanted to be ready. I didn’t expect it to come so fast.
I built Cresthill to help older people who didn’t have anyone to take care of them and who deserved to live a good life. Mom has Ivy and me, but back when she and Dad were still married, this would’ve been a good place for her, for them if he hadn’t abandoned her.
It’s like her dream retreat. Bouquet arranging, vast gardens, cooking classes, and more. Which is why she lives here now. Not because she needs to, but because she wants to.
Cresthill gives her life a purpose. As a volunteer, as a worker, as a resident.
Payton pauses at the sign above the looming double doors. They’re made of glass to look like water with crystals embedded in the shape of letters.
Cresthill Home. Big, bold, and proud.
Her mouth hangs open.
She can’t take her eyes off it.
Can’t even speak.
Honestly, I might be offended at this point.
Where did she think I’d take her?
Finally, eyes still glued to the sign, she speaks. “A senior living home.”
“Yep,” I respond, voice purposely flat.
But something about the way she said it spikes my adrenaline. The last thing I want or need is the approval of the woman at fault for my sister being fucking sold. Yet I can’t help but feel instant gratification.
You’ve lost your goddamn mind, Trent.
She studies my face, probably gauging whether I’m serious. The disbelief is still etched across her face. Clear as day. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
I’m not exactly a peach to her, by design, but I’ve also been nothing but civil to everyone else—in front of her, too. She’s seen me with Chef, Gail, Brandon, his team. Even Ivy and Mom at the reading. This shouldn’t surprise her.
And now I’m completely offended.
“Really?” I deadpan, laying the sarcasm on thick. “From the dislodged jaw and Bambi eyes, it seemed like you were totally expecting it.”
