Page 30 of Between the Lines

I watch from the living room full of bags and boxes as he walks across the sleek stone path to the sliding back doors of his house, disappearing behind them.

We are just neighbors. We don’t have to interact outside of work. No one but Halle even knows about this setup. It’ll be fine. I have got this under control.

I drag a trash bag full of clothes into the bedroom I’ll be sleeping in, relieved it’s in the back of the guesthouse and has curtains.

The last thing in the world I need is for Caden Brooks to see me in my birthday suit.

11

Caden

I’ve avoided the back half of my house all evening.

But I need to eat dinner, so I can’t hide like this anymore. From my great room, there’s a straight view into the guesthouse, and as I stand at the kitchen counter, seasoning a steak, I wonder if this was completely irresponsible of me.

Perhaps Fia was right, maybe I should’ve been upfront about the property being a guesthouse to my house.

I wash my hands, let the steak rest on a plate, and start chopping mushrooms.

Then again, it took so much convincing to get her to even accept help in the form of a loan that she probably would’ve never agreed to moving here if she’d known the truth.

But my property is private, quiet, and safe. There’s no mold, there’s space for her and her daughter . . . and even her feral cat that I totally forgot about when I offered her the place.

I toss the mushrooms in a hot pan with a splash of cream and a sprig of rosemary.

Just as I’m placing the steak into the sizzling cast iron, a car door slams shut and I snap my head up. The only person I’m used to parking in my driveway is my best friend, Matt, when he comes over to train me.

But now there’s a little gold sedan glinting in the evening sun.

This is going to take some getting used to.

Watching Fia, my new neighbor, feels a bit invasive and wrong, and yet I can’t peel my eyes away as she balances multiple grocery bags in her arms and gets her daughter from the backseat. Daisy clings to her like a little monkey as Fia, weighed down, trudges to the guesthouse’s front door.

I take a sip of bourbon and stir the mushrooms. Dinner for one on a Friday night.

I should make sure she gets in safe, being that it’s her first night here and all.

Across the span of the pool, Fia stands at the front door for longer than acceptable. It’s not that hard to punch in the code. I even gave her a backup key.

She drops the bags to the ground, and Daisy reaches up, yanking Fia’s sunglasses off her face as Fia pats her pockets with her free hand.

I told her I’d stay in my house and she’d barely see me. I intend to keep that promise. But she’s been standing there for three minutes when she leans down closer to the door, punching in numbers. Again.

My phone lights up with a message.

Guesthouse door locked. Code error limit reached.

I can’t hear her, but I do see her hair flying wildly around like flames as she kneels, presumably searching for the key now.

Motherfucker, this is like watching a train derail.

Wiping my hands on the kitchen towel, I pull up my house app to unlock the door from here. With bated breath, I watch as she jiggles the handle one more time, the door flying open.

Fia’s shoulders visibly relax, and she grabs her mountain of stuff, including her kid, and nearly skips into the house, kicking the door shut behind her.

“Good Lord,” I mumble, turning back to my dinner.

Just as I plate my food and sit on the couch, ready to mindlessly watch a documentary, my phone rings.