Page 53 of Between the Lines

He’s reluctant but agrees, leaving out the back door. He doesn’t acknowledge me standing there, and every flag in my mind is waving red.

Fia puts her head down, but red creeps up her neck.

My first instinct is to walk right outside and ask him what the hell he wants from her.

But that’s crossing the line, right?

That’s getting involved in her personal business.

Though she’s insane if she thinks I’m going to ignore it too.

I walk up to the counter. “Want to enlighten me on that?” I ask, maybe too sharp.

She shakes her head, smiling weakly. Something is off.

“Uhm . . .” Fia bites her lip, stalling. I don’t budge. “That’s Jesse. I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s harmless. Promise.”

Right.

Halle and the other barista arrive, and Fia takes the chance to walk away from me.

Yeah, fuck that. I’m not leaving until he does.

22

Fia

My stomach drops when I step outside and see Jesse sitting at an umbrella-covered cafe table. There’s no one else out here, and he looks enormous in the small metal chair.

I’ve never been intimidated by my sister’s longtime boyfriend, he’s like a big brother to me, but the look on his face has me hyperventilating.

He knows something.

“What’s going on? You’re freaking me out . . .” I walk up to him, too nervous to sit.

Jesse puffs out his cheeks, his long inked legs splayed out in front of him.

“You tell me, Fia.”

“I don’t like your tone. I’m busy, just tell me.”

His jaw tightens as he nods at me. “You want to explain why I just drove past the house and saw a dumpster in the driveway and a crew of guys in hazmat suits hauling out drywall?”

Everything stops moving.

Jesse leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Fia.”

I’m an adult. I made my choices, and I can own up to this.

“Fine.” I tense but I hold his gaze. “But before you freak out, please hear me out.”

Jesse sweeps his hand through the air, watching me closely.

“A few weeks ago, I discovered a leak in the roof,” I say, sighing heavily, “and called a contractor. They found mold in the drywall of the ceiling . . .”

Jesse’s brows rise and his lips fall open.

“So, long story short,” I say, barreling on, “the guys you saw were hauling out the damaged drywall. Then the house will get a new roof.”