“Morning, Evie. Come on in.”
Now that is one thing that has changed. After our heart-to-heart at the coffee shop, Jacob has stopped calling me by the formal Miss Jones that makes me feel way too much like my mama. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still polished and business-like, but I like to imagine that maybe he sees me as a friend now. Not sure why that gives me hope, because remember, I’m up in the nosebleeds just lucky if my binoculars reach as far as the field.
“Good mornin’!” I step inside the house, and a choir of angels starts singing around me.
This place is…glorious. That’s the only word I could possibly use to describe it. It’s a big, open floor plan with high, vaulted ceilings lined with dark wood beams, and from where I stand at the doorway, I can see everything from the living room, to the dining room, to the cabana outside. I can see it through the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the wall of the living room. Oh, and there’s a pool out there too.
I grew up in a mansion with a maid staff, and yet it never gave me the urge to dive onto the plush living room rug and make snow angels the way this house is.
Everything is white and light-colored wood with contrasting black-steel trimming on the massive windows. It’s sophisticated yet homey, and it smells like vanilla and teakwood and something else that I’m realizing is Jacob Broaden’s natural man musk.
I’m really trying to control myself to not go run and dive onto that big gray couch. I had no idea that architects make this kind of money.
And, oops, I apparently said that out loud, because Jacob replies with a shy grin, “Not all of us do. But I own my own firm, so I make a little more than the average.”
I like that he’s not the kind of guy to be in your face about how much money he has in his bank account.
There’s a small awkward pause while I continue running my eyes over every inch of the house that I can see.
“I designed the house. Do you like it?”
Do I like it? I have to scoop my jaw up off of the floor just to respond. “I love it. I think I could fit twenty of my apartment inside it.” I probably didn’t need to say that. In fact, I wish I hadn’t.
It’s only going to prove to him what a small fry I am compared to him.
I’m resisting the urge to open my arms wide and turn a full circle in slow motion. That’s what living in a 500 sq ft apartment will do to a person. I’m a madwoman, escaped from my cell, and there’s no telling what I’ll do next.
I turn just in time to catch Jacob’s eyes dart up to mine as if he had just been checking out my legs.
That gives me a nice little boost of confidence until he says, “Your shoes…”
I look down at my scuffed up, white tennis shoes, and now I’m a ripe strawberry. “Oh. I’m sorry. Are you a shoes-off house?”
I’m frantically trying to toe out of my sneakers when Jacob’s calloused hand lands on my forearm, but then he pulls it away quickly like I burned him. “No, I wasn’t insinuating you had to take them off. I was just wondering if you always wear tennis shoes with your dresses. I remember you were wearing them that first day at the coffee shop too.”
He remembered that? I force my skin to cool and meet his gaze. “Not just with dresses. I wear them all the time. Because of my seizures, I’m not able to drive. I live close to downtown, so I usually walk most places. Helps to wear tennis shoes.” I lift my foot and wiggle my shoe back and forth like a dumbo.
He looks thoughtful after my comment. My wiggling foot isn’t making him smile. He runs a heavy hand through his perfectly mussed hair and puffs out a heavy breath. “That’s something I hadn’t even thought of yet. Driving. Sam won’t be able to drive, will she?”
I shrug, ignoring my urge to wrap my arms around his middle and tell him everything is going to be okay. It will be okay. They will find a new normal, and life will go on—just in a new direction.
But for now, it’s important for me to be honest. “Depends. If her medication helps and she makes it the state’s specified number of months without a seizure, she’ll be able to. But if she’s like me…then no.”
I can see his mind processing that information, and it immediately triggers my memories of being sixteen and angry at my life too. But you know what? I got through it, and I learned to love my new life. Hopefully, Sam and her daddy will too.
I turn around and face the main living area of the house again. Everything looks so clean. Surely, a single dad doesn’t have time to keep a house this clean all the time. Unless he isn’t single. There is absolutely no reason why that thought should crush me as much as it does, but I feel as if I’ve been stuffed inside a trash compactor and it’s turning me into a tight little square.
Wanting to escape my feelings of dejection, I invite myself and the dogs farther into the immaculate house.
Seriously?! Where’s he hiding the little knick-knacks and doo-dads that prove they really live here?
I briefly consider lifting up the couch cushions to see if I find any crumbs or loose change living underneath. Would he think it’s weird if I open that hall closet and have a little look around? I wonder if his room is on this floor or up the stairs? Does he sleep on a king bed? I think he would have to, otherwise those long legs of his would dangle off the end.
“Evie!” Sam’s voice breaks from the top of the stairs, and she comes barreling down, all teeth and sparkling brown eyes. She really is adorable. Her face looks open and excited today. I remember that feeling well.
“Hey there, darlin’!”
For a brief moment, I think Sam is going to run right up and hug me, but in the end, she doesn’t. She looks like she lost the courage to do it.