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“Lacy?” The piano music comes to a stop with a clatter, as Benjamin straightens up and looks at me, bleary-eyed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What the hell amIdoing here? I could ask you the same thing!” I snap back. I blink back tears as I stoop to grab my precious books, now soiled.
“Oh shit, your books! Here, let me help,” Benjamin says, jumping up from the piano. As distraught as I am by the state of my books, I can’t help but notice how fit he is. Tanned and toned, not bulky but ripped. His dark beard is closely cropped in a perpetual five ‘o’ clock shadow, and his dark hair is sexily mussed up.
“Can you get me a damp cloth or something?” I ask, as I shake egg off the book covers. I notice him eyeing the open notebook with my poems in it, and quickly stoop to snap it shut.
“Sure, hang on.” He rushes off to the kitchen and returns, sheepish, with a damp t-shirt. “So, I couldn’t find a kitchen towel, but you can use my t-shirt.”
I stare at him in disbelief but take the damp cotton t-shirt gladly, carefully wiping the remnants of egg off the book covers. Meanwhile, Benjamin stoops to gather up the groceries and cleaning supplies I threw down in surprise at the sight of him.
“You sure know how to make an entrance,” he says with a grin.
“I thought I’d seen a ghost,” I say, annoyed and slightly offended. “I thought the place was empty. Are you even supposed to be here?”
“Well, I still have a key to the place, the key from Elliot, so I guess I’ve got just as much right to be here as you,sis.” Benjamin says defensively, his words dripping with sarcasm.
“But what are you doing here?” I say in irritation, scanning the room.
Now that we’ve cleaned up the mess I made when I walked in, I have a chance to take in my surroundings. Rose Manor, once a beautiful family home full of memories, has been transformed into a slobby, dirty, poorly kept bachelor pad.
Just beyond the front entry hall, the living room is a mess ofstuff. Old dishes are stacked high on the coffee table, and piles of laundry sit on the floor. An electric guitar and amp sit on what was once dad’s favorite armchair. Even the baby grand piano that Benjamin was playing on, once the aesthetic centerpiece of the room, looks dusty and grimy, with stacks of notebooks and sheet music scattered on top of it. As I take in the scene, it finally starts to click.
“Are youlivinghere?” I ask in shock, staring at Benjamin.
“I just came here for a little bit,” he says sheepishly. “I needed to get away for a minute, out of the spotlight. Somewhere where the media couldn’t find me.”
My heart softens slightly. As someone who hates the limelight myself, I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be in Benjamin’s shoes, having the paparazzi after you 24/7. But still, I’m disgusted by the state of the house. I recently turned 26 and Ben was four years older than me, if I remember right. So, he’s 30 years old.
Thisis how a 30-year-oldmanlives? Ugh.
“Does dad know you’re here?” I ask.
“No. I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Well, you’re going to have to get out,” I say firmly.
“Says who?”
“Me! I’m here to get the place fixed up and cleaned up. A job thatyouhave just made infinitely harder,” I say, gesturing to the mess in the living room.
“Ah yeah, the washer-dryer broke, so the laundry has built up a bit.”
“It’s not just the piles of laundry,” I say in irritation. “Have you washed a single dish since you’ve been here?” I raise an eyebrow as I point to the stack of plates on the coffee table.
“Shit, yeah, I’m sorry, Lace.”
I feel myself soften slightly at his old pet name for me.
“I’ve just been holed up here solo, focusing on my music. I might have let things get a bit out of hand,” he goes on, looking around the room as if he’s seeing it for the first time. “Shit, I’m actually kind of embarrassed you caught me like this, to be honest,” he adds.
He rubs the stubble on his chin absentmindedly as he stares around the room.
“And why are there a bunch of pots and pans in the corner?” I ask, gesturing to the far side of the living room, where a cluster of cookware dots the old oriental rug.
“Uh, there’s some kind of leak there. From the ceiling.”
“Shit,” I breathe out the word in irritation. Maybe Lillian was right. Getting this place ready for buyers is going to be a bigger project than I expected.
