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“I don’t know. My explanation seemed easier.”
I look at Dean. His silver eyes gaze back at me for a second and then shift away again. I knew there was something off about him from the start. He was hiding something then, and I can’t say why, but I feel like he’s still hiding something.
“But it also raised way more questions than it needed to,” I argue.
“I guess,” Dean shrugs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through.” He doesn’t sound very sorry.
“So, you aren’t scheming behind our backs to somehow snatch our property from us?” I ask.
“N—no.” He trips over the word, and I frown.
“No,” he repeats more clearly.
“Why would Dylan say that then?” I ask.
I need to get to the bottom of this. Not just for my family and my daughter, but for myself. I trusted Dean. I was beginning to, though I hate to admit it, fall for him. If he was just using us…
“I don’t know.” Dean shrugs, moving further into the kitchen. He grabs a dirty plate from the table and turns his back on me so he can put it in the dishwasher. “He’s a hormonal teenager. He says a lot of things that don’t make sense. I’m not sure what he was even mad at Mina for.”
“I’m not sure either. I’m just trying to figure out the truth behind what Dylan said to her.”
My heart aches for Mina, though. I was so angry about what she told me that I didn’t even realize why Dylan had told her this to begin with. Or what that would mean for their relationship.
“I already told you,” Dean says. He’s facing me, his arms crossed.
“I know. But it doesn’t make sense,” I say. “It’s not like you’ve taken any care or time to update the place. How much money are you expecting to make off of the sale?”
“You’re right.” Dean’s silver eyes flash in the kitchen light. “I haven’t done anything yet. I’m still figuring all of that out.”
“I don’t know…” Something still seems off.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Dean says. His expression doesn’t look very sorry.
This is the first exchange we’ve had where he’s treating me like I’m a business associate instead of a person. His tone has remained neutral the entire time, and he hasn’t tried to make a single joke—which isn’t like him, even in stressful situations.
It’s making me uncomfortable, so I change subjects.
“Are you done yet?” I ask, nodding toward his studio.
“I finished the first one. This is the second.”
“Really? That’s great.” I try to sound cheerful, but my voice comes out flat.
Dean shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess. It has been fun.”
“Well, that’s really good. I’m glad.”
We used to joke, but now we just sound like…well, I guess like neighbors.
“How’s that blanket coming along?” he asks.
“Oh, fine. I’m not in a huge rush to make it. It’s not like Mina will use it until the winter anyway.” I don’t know why I’m still here. Neither of us is smiling, and we’re both standing in our own little corners of the kitchen.
“Right.”
We both look to the driveway as the same car from yesterday pulls up.
“Well, I better leave you and your girlfriend…” I open the door.
