Page 55 of Fake it For Good
“Just shout and I’ll find you,” I said.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked. “I feel weird roaming around your house.”
“I’m asking you to,” I told her. “Consider it like you are doing me a favor. There could be a body stashed somewhere in this house and I wouldn’t know it.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said, laughing. “I’m in a strange man’s house and you’re telling me to go look for a body. Nothing weird about that.”
I was still laughing when she walked out of the kitchen. I had never given anyone free rein over my house. Granted, I didn’t really have a lot of visitors, but I was always protective of my space. I didn’t mind sharing it with her, though.
I quickly stuffed the manicotti shells and slid the pan into the oven before I went to find her. She was in the living room, standing in front of the gas fireplace. The lights weren’t on. The fake flames danced behind the glass and cast moving shadows around the room.
“It’s very comfortable in here,” she said when I stood beside her.
“This is the one room of the house you won’t find bodies,” I said with a soft smile.
“I can tell you hang out in here.”
“How?” I questioned.
“I don’t know, I can just feel you in here,” she replied.
“Do you want to sit down?” I asked.
“Sure.”
We moved to the couch, both of us caught up in the trance the dancing flames cast upon us. “Do you really live here all by yourself?” she asked.
“I really do.”
“Is this the house you shared with your ex-wife?” she asked.
“No.” I took a drink from my beer. “She’s never stepped foot in this house. I don’t know if she knows where I live. I hope she doesn’t.”
“Ah, the bitter divorce,” she said.
“I had a house before this one,” I said. “It was a little smaller and a lot older. I loved it. Kelly took it in the divorce.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said, sighing. “It’s in the past. She knew I loved that house and purposely fought to keep it. She sold it shortly after the divorce just to be mean.”
“Wow,” she said. “You guys really did have a bitter divorce.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered.
“How many kids do you have?”
I frowned. “None. Why?”
“You said you were married a while,” she said. “And I saw the playroom downstairs. As soon as I realized I was in family territory, I came right back upstairs.”
I laughed. “It is a playroom, but it was a leftover from the previous owner. Like I said, I rarely see most of the house. It was a cool paintjob. I left it alone. The rest of the house has been painted, which wasn’t easy painting over blood red.”
“Ew, really?”
“Yes,” I said. “The foyer was the funkiest shade of red with gold wallpaper. The dining room was another shade of red. The kitchen had red appliances. I got rid of all of it, but the playroom was really cool. I thought about myself when I was a kid. I would have killed for a room like that.”
“It does look like you’re stepping into a fairytale world,” she agreed.
