Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little funny.”
“I’m good. I’ll be there in just a minute, and we can finish the first coat.”
She frowned, not looking convinced. “Okay.”
She headed inside, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I drew in some much-needed air and stared at the blue sky.
I had two choices.
Act like a dick and confront her. Make her uncomfortable and hope she moved out so I didn’t have to look at her every day and remember what an idiot I had been.
Or not say a word. Enjoy her for the person she was. Kind, sweet, and wonderful. Keep her as a friend, exactly the way I had hoped to feel when I’d advertised for a roommate. Eventually, this feeling would go away. It had to. I didn’t want her to move out. I didn’t want to lose her.
Even if she didn’t feel the way I did.
We could be friends.
Roommates.
Buddies.
Right?
It killed me to go back inside and keep painting as if nothing had happened. As if overhearing a few words hadn’t devastated me. I managed to smile and return Hannah’s teasing as we painted, although I knew it wasn’t as heartfelt as it had been before. I made sure to stay far enough away that there was no touching, no cheek-kisses or arm-hugs.
The living room and hall were totally done. Two coats. My room would be ready for a second coat in the morning. I planned to get up early and get it done before Hannah woke up. I wasn’t sure I could be in that room with her again. The close proximity was too much.
We went to Mack and Rosa’s place, the one-story house large and welcoming. The gardens were being prepped, and they had a big area of play sets for the grandkids. We sat around in the warm summer evening, eating lasagna and the multitude of other dishes she’d prepared. Rosa Borelli-Conner had no clue how to make only one dish for a meal. I ate like I was starving, even though the food on my plate tasted like sawdust. I played with the kids, laughed with Maxx and Stefano. Let Rosa fuss over me a little.
I stayed as far away from Hannah as I could without making it obvious. I sat beside Dom, and we discussed the roof and the deck. Charly was enthusiastic about the tools and other items I had taken her, planning on adding to the garage décor. I made sure Hannah and Cherry were okay, insisting on getting them second helpings and bringing them the delicious dessert at the end of the meal. I hid everything deep inside. I was good at that. I had done it for years with my brother and my father.
Charly nodded her approval, and I smiled at her, sitting beside Rosa.
“Thank you for doing all of this for us, Rosa.”
She smiled and patted my cheek. “You good boy. I like you. I am glad you buy a house. You need roots.”
I chuckled. “Yes, Mama Rosa.”
“I like new girl.” She turned, lowering her voice. “But she make you sad, Chase?”
“Um, no, she’s great.”
She shook her head. “No, I see your heart is sad when you look at her. How much you like her?”
“Just as a friend. It’s the same way she sees me.”
She pursed her lips. “Be patient. Sometimes we have to be patient. It is hard, but worth it.”
I didn’t have the strength to try to explain it to her. “Sure, Rosa. I can do that.”
She patted my cheek again. “Good boy. You deserve to be happy. Like my Stefano.”
I had to look away.
I doubted that was in the cards for me.
Later, back at the house, Hannah turned to me with a smile.
“I can’t believe how much we got done today,” she said, looking around the living room. “We’ll move the furniture against the walls in a couple of days,” she explained. “But it’s usable, and you can watch TV.”
“Awesome.” I forced a smile to my face.
“Chase, are you sure you’re all right?” she asked. “You look as if something upset you.”
“No,” I lied. “I’m good. Just a long day and I’m tired. But you’re right. We accomplished a lot, and thanks to Rosa and all the food you bought, we don’t have to worry about groceries or cooking for a while. Lots of leftovers.”
“That’s true.” She looked at her phone, following me into the kitchen. “Mom got home.”
“That’s good.” I grabbed a soda, offering one to her. She took it and nodded. “I always worry about her driving.”
I sat at the table. “Isn’t that her job? To worry about you, I mean?” I asked, curious. They had an interesting dynamic. More friends than mother/daughter.
She pushed the hair away from her face as she sat down. She opened her drink and took a swallow. “Oh, she does worry. Believe me. Having me young and my dad dying, it was always just us. I think she sort of grew up with me. I mean, she was—is—a great mom, but we’ve always been close since it was only the two of us.”