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Normal life happening all around me.

Kieran's house is smaller than I expected. A craftsman bungalow painted dark blue with white trim, a deep front porch with two Adirondack chairs that look handmade. There's a Japanese maple in the front yard dropping red leaves all over the lawn.

"This is it," he says, sounding oddly uncertain. "It's not much."

"It's perfect," I say, and mean it.

We get out and he unlocks the front door. The inside is exactly how he described it—hardwood floors, cream walls, furniture that's functional but sparse. Everything neat and orderly and a little impersonal, like a very clean hotel room.

"I know it's not much," he says again, watching me look around. "I'm not home enough to really decorate."

"Can I see the rest?"

He shows me through. A living room with a couch and chair and television. A kitchen with white cabinets and butcher block counters and a window over the sink that looks into the backyard. Two bedrooms—one clearly his, with a bed and dresser and nothing else, and one completely empty except for a desk pushed against one wall and some boxes stacked in the corner.

"What's in the boxes?" I ask.

"My dad's things. Never unpacked them."

"How long ago did you move?"

"Four years."

Four years and he hasn't unpacked. Hasn't decorated. Hasn't made this place into anything except somewhere to sleep.

He shows me the bathroom last. It's small but charming, with black and white tile and a clawfoot tub that looks original.

"You really never use that?" I ask, gesturing to the tub.

"No. Just the shower."

"That's a crime. That tub is amazing."

He smiles slightly. "Feel free to use it whenever you want."

We end up back in the living room and I stand there taking it all in. The house has good bones. High ceilings. Crown molding. Built-in bookshelves that are mostly empty. It wants to be warm and lived-in. Instead it feels like no one actually lives here.

"What do you think?" he asks.

I turn to face him. "I think this is a house waiting for someone to make it a home."

"Yeah." He looks around like he's seeing it through my eyes. "I keep meaning to do something with it but I never get around to it."

"Because it didn't seem worth the effort just for you."

He looks at me. "You remembered."

My heart aches. I cross the room and take his hands. "Kieran."

"It's fine. It's just a house."

"No. It's not just a house. It's your home. You deserve to make it nice."

"Maybe."

I take a breath, gathering courage. "I can't stay at the cottage anymore."

His expression shifts. "Okay."