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I bought this place ten years ago with money I’d saved.
It’s so beautiful here.
She’ll be the first girl I’ve brought home since… My shoulders tense. Let’s just say, it’s been a minute since I’ve had any female presence at my place.
My life is heavy enough, I’ve kept the interior of my home light. White walls, beech trim around the windows and doors, ash floors, wooden kitchen counters and cabinets, well-built furniture with minimal lines. I don’t bring many home, other than Eamon, preferring to keep my home separate from my life with the Kings.
When I do show it off, people are always surprised at the bright, clean, modern feel I’ve cultivated. Those that know me don’t say, but I think they expect me to live somewhere dark and gloomy, like a cave.
What will she think of the place that’s to be her new home?
And why do I care?
Fiona and Carol Ann are good girls. They know to keep their mouths shut and do as I’ve told them, telling the rest of the interns they’ve dropped their homesick friend off at the airport, sending her back to LA. They’ll be packing up her stuff now, hiding it in the shed behind the lodge for Eamon to pick up for me under the dark cover of night.
I want her under lock and key, but I don’t want her uncomfortable. I know enough about women to know they need their belongings, makeup and clothes, their creature comforts. I even did a bit of shopping in town this morning. It’s all in the bed of the truck, bagged up safe and sound. Bought a couple colorful pillows and throws to brighten up the guest room she’ll be staying in. Enough decent food to keep us going for a week or so before I’ll have to go back out, as well as American crisps, pre-packaged chocolate chip cookies, that mac n’ cheese that comes with the orange powder, things a college student might miss from back home.
Make no mistake. My softness for her comfort will not extend to my handling of her disobedience.
“We’re here,” I say, unable to lose the habit I inherited from my mom. Eamon’s smart words instantly pop into my head.
Useless statement.
She doesn’t make a show of her fear, or relief, holding in whatever it is she’s feeling with a pursing of her lips.
The words roll off my tongue. “Let the games begin.”
She turns her cutting gaze onto me. Anger. The feeling she’s feeling is anger. “Games? Is that what my life is to you? A game?”
The bite in her tone surprises me. I’d better be careful, or I might get kitty cat scratches. “Your life isn’t a game. But the way you’ve pushed yourself into mine—now that’s a joke.”
“I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Can’t a girl take a walk at night? Enjoy the scenery?”
I wouldn’t let a girl of mine out at night alone. Not for a moment. If she’s going out with friends, I want to know who she’s with, where she’ll be and when she’ll be back.
Might even be sitting outside waiting for her in my truck when she’s done.
But this here is an independent American woman, bred to be on her own.
“Sure,” I agree. “But what’s your excuse for the other two times you’ve stuck your nose into my business?”
Ignoring my accusations, she holds the cuffs up for me to unlock.
I shake my head.
She drops her hands back into her lap. For the first time since we arrived, she lets her gaze leave my face, scanning her surroundings.
I see a softening around her eyes as she takes in my home. “Is this your place?”
“Yes.”
She eyes me, then takes another long look at the house. “You mean, you picked it out yourself?”
It’s the same with everyone else in my life, expecting me to live under a bridge like a troll. “Yes. I bought the land. Designed the floorplan. Worked with an architect to make my dream a reality. And had it built. All by myself. And now, you’ve made yourself my unwanted guest for God knows how long.”
She bites her lip, the uncertainty of her future hanging heavy in the cab of the truck.
“Shall we?” I open my door. “You stay here. I’ve got a few bags to get out of the back. Then I’ll be back for you.”
