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Abigail wasn’t much of a cook, but she banged around, making coffee and toast for us and throwing concerned glances my way every few seconds. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
I blinked and met her gaze. “No. I feel pretty numb.”
“Even after a hot shower?
“On the inside,” I added, huffing.
“Oh. Right.” She set a plate with a golden-brown piece of toast slathered in butter in front of me, then grabbed two mugs and filled them with strong coffee. “Well. Maybe if we tell everyone about the Sinclair deal, we can stop the approval from the council. It’s not official yet, is it?”
I poured a dollop of milk into my coffee and watched its cloud dance and shift. “I could probably do that, but I’m not sure I want to.”
“What do you mean?”
I lifted my gaze to hers, a sad smile tugging at one corner of my lips. “That old theater is on its last legs, Abigail. The whole town is. We need change.”
“But—Sinclair!”
“Who else has enough money to turn this place around?”
Abigail frowned at me, then reached over and pressed her palm to my forehead. “I think you need to see a doctor.”
Brushing her off, I managed another snort that might pass as half a laugh. “I’m serious.”
“And the house?”
A lance of sharp pain speared through my chest. “The house…” I sighed. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do about the house. Maybe it’s time for me to let it go.”
Abigail scowled at her coffee. All I could think about was how to move out of my home and make sure I never had to see—or speak to—Sebastian Anderson ever again.
A week later, I sat on Abigail’s porch swing and watched the sun go down.
My insides hadn’t stopped aching since the night of the gala. I felt all twisted up. Between knowing that my home would soon be nothing but rubble and the depth of his lies, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And I hated him for that. I hated him with every fiber of my being. But more than that, I hated that I let myself fall for him.
So it was a huge relief that he didn’t show up while I was moving my things out of the apartment. Out of my home. I had to pack up like a mad woman, and I was pretty sure a few dishes died in the process. Now all of my belongings were sitting in a storage unit. Everything except most of my closet, a few choice throw pillows, my computer, and the remaining two boxes of my favorite peach-flavored sparkling water.
I’d dug up the crumpled yellow demolition notice and sent an email to the listed address confirming that I’d moved out. The employee who answered me must’ve worked for Sebastian. They were professional and efficient, and they confirmed they’d send me the promised money in exchange for moving out early. It felt dirty and wrong to take money from him. But I’d given up. All the fight had gone out of me, and now all I could do was wallow.
For now, I was staying at Abigail’s. And I hated to admit it, but it had been nice enjoying her central air, long hot showers, and insulated roof. Plus I never had to worry if the floor would collapse beneath my feet. I would’ve loved to have added those amenities to Radcliffe House Apartments, but I guessed that was just a dream that was never meant to be.
“You still thinking about him?” Abigail asked, sitting next to me on the swing.
My attention shifted back to her. “Thinking about murdering him,” I said, but it wasn’t true.
“That’s the spirit.” She clinked her soda can against mine and took a slurp. “I’ll never understand these guys. First they make you want to scream that you love them from the rooftops, then they make you want to bury them six feet under.”
It had been three years since her divorce, and she was still picking up the pieces. “Well, at least you got the house out of it.”
Abigail frowned. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
“Yeah, me too. I’m really going to miss it.” We sat there in the silence of my grief, which was compounded by the fact that I had no Plan B. I hadn’t seen the fall coming. I’d been so sure Anderson was going to sell me the old house. A fair and square deal. Now, I was approved to buy something, something just for me. But the idea of owning a home that didn’t light me up the way that house did felt so wrong.
“I can’t believe I’m homeless again,” I said.
“You’re not homeless. You’re here with me. It’s been kind of nice having another body in the house.”
“You mean besides the ex-husband’s you’ve been hiding under the floorboards?”
“Oh I got rid of him. He stank up the place something awful,” she replied with a laugh. “But seriously, I fought so long and hard to get this house. I poured my heart and soul into making it perfect for him and me. For our life together. And he tore that away.”
