Page 36 of Dream House
“Are yousureyou mean it?”Pen’s question is like a loaded gun.
Even from this distance, I catch the sigh.“Yes. I mean it.”
“Then answer me one question.”
“Yeah?”
The silence stretches so long, I think I’ve missed something.
“The guy said he needs a place to stay. What would Nanna do?”
“Goddammit.”
Heavy stomping follows this curse, and then Stella Mouton is standing in front of me again, glowering.
She whips her shining mane of honey brown hair over her shoulder. Her green eyes snap. “You want to see the room?” She might as well be kicking my kneecaps. I should tell her what she can do with her room.
But I don’t. Maybe I can’t.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say. And then because I cringe at how eager I sound, I tack on, “It’s gotta be better than my brother’s couch.”
Stella Mouton’s glowering eyes narrow to slits, and I can tell she doesn’t appreciate my attitude.
Good.
For whatever reason, I rattle her. If I lived here, I could rattle her all the time. The scowl she’s giving me right now makes that oddly gratifying.
“Follow me.”
She leaves the kitchen without another word, so I follow. We pass Pen who’s still standing by the front door, surprised triumph written all over her face.
Stella takes the stairs at just under a jog. I’d be lying if I denied that I feel an animal’s instinct to give chase. But since I do, I deliberately drag my feet as I follow. I also keep my eyes on the steps beneath me instead of her bare legs that flash at me from the hem of her dress to the heels of her shoes. Her calves look like they could cut glass.
But I’m not looking.
She’s at the landing before I’m halfway there, and I can practically feel Pen breathing down my neck. She’s about as subtle as a landslide.
The stairs open onto a balcony lined with shut doors before banking left and ascending to a third floor. Stella stops right in front of the first door. “This is Nina. She’s not to be disturbed.”
I nod, but when she stares at me, clearly waiting for verbal acknowledgment, I mutter, “Got it.”
“Bathroom,” she says, pointing to the middle door. I nod again.
Stella opens the next door. The bedroom is bigger than I expected. Brighter too. A white, wrought iron double bed is centered in front of two windows. At its foot is a cedar chest with a flat, polished lid.
My first thought is that my specimen collection would fit on it just right.
A tall dresser, a night stand, and a pale peach antique-looking chair don’t do much to fill up the space, so there’s room for at least some of my things that are still at the apartment.
My weight bench. It won’t complement the decor, but screw that.
My bookshelf. My microwave.
My TV. Zoe might pitch a fit, but I bought that 55-inch Vizio last summer, and I’m not about to leave it there.
We got the couch and the coffee table together. She can keep that. She can have everything else in the kitchen too.
“Breakfast is covered in your rent,” Pen says, breaking the silence.
