When I shut the door behind us, it’s quiet, and alone in the dark like this, I still feel the possibility of what could be with her. Which is why I flip on the bright overhead kitchen light. We both squint at the sudden dose of reality. The charged, magical pool moment is over, and Lucy looks like she’s torn between anger and mortification, arms tightly cr
ossed and shoulders bunched up.
“The bathroom is this way,” I say, nodding my head and walking through the kitchen toward the main hall.
“I’m good here,” she says, and when I look back, she adds, “Don’t want to drip on your floor.”
Riiiiight. What she means is, How about you drop dead, Cooper?
I leave Lucy with her back superglued to the door and head to my master bathroom to change out of my wet clothes and grab her a towel. When I come back into the kitchen, I see Lucy curiously peeking her head around the corner to the living room. She hears me approach and springs back to her spot at the door.
I smile at the guilty expression on her face. “Here, I went ahead and brought you some of my clothes so you don’t have to be cold on the way home.” She looks down at the sweatpants and t-shirt like maybe they’re full of frogs and I’m trying to trick her into wearing them. “I know they’ll be a little big, but I figured it would be more comfortable than what you’ve got on.”
She swallows and gives me a tight smile. “Thanks.”
I step forward and wrap the towel around her shoulders. I’m conscious of every tiny moment, every breath, every blink of her eyes as I look down at her with my hands lingering on her shoulders. Her long lashes are cast down to the lump of clothing in her hands, and I feel the need to clarify what happened, even if she doesn’t want to hear it. “Lucy—”
“Your house is empty,” she says in a rush, cutting me off.
I frown and look around, momentarily jarred by her change of subject. “Oh. Yeah. I just moved in a month ago.”
She pulls away, forcing my hands to drop, and steps farther into the kitchen. It’s clear she’s not going to let me address why I turned her down. “Or maybe you’re really just a squatter.” She tosses a mischievous smirk over her shoulder, and the fact that she’s joking again makes me relax slightly.
“You caught me. Only a few more months before squatter’s rights kick in.” It actually does look like that, though.
I bought this place because I liked that it was modern and also homey. The kitchen has slate-gray cabinets and white marble countertops, and although it’s not huge, it’s open concept, making it feel spacious. The floors are a light hardwood throughout, and it has that new-build-house smell. But the rest is bare, minus a gray, midcentury couch in the living room and my bed in the master. I’ve tried looking for furniture online, but every time I get ready to click buy, I can’t commit.
Lucy delicately runs her fingers across the countertop and looks toward the empty breakfast nook. It’s surrounded by windows that overlook the pool. “It’s a really pretty house. It’ll look amazing when you get moved in.”
“I am moved in.”
Her eyes fly to me and then to the space around her with a new realization. “But there’s nothing in here.”
“Not true.” I point toward the sink. “There’s a bowl in the sink.”
She gives a short laugh and looks at me like she still can’t fully believe I’m telling the truth. “How long did you say you’ve lived here?”
“A month, give or take.”
Her eyes widen, and she spins on her heels, charging into the living room. She flips on the light and takes in the pathetic couch sitting in the middle of the room facing a large empty wall where a TV should be.
“Before you picture me sitting in here in the dark, staring at that wall like a psycho, just know I watch movies on my laptop.”
Now Lucy is making herself at home as she buzzes though the living room and down the hallway. There’s a new energy about her that I like, something determined and comfortable. After flipping on a switch in the guest bathroom, frowning at it, and then doing the same with two more rooms, she goes all the way down the hall to my bedroom.
There, she turns on the light but just hovers at the edge. Her eyes make one quick sweep over my king-sized bed and then move up to me, where I am looking over her shoulder. “You own two pieces of furniture, Cooper. TWO. What is this house, like, two thousand square feet? And you own two pieces of furniture?” She says this like maybe I hadn’t already realized it and this should be some great epiphany for me.
“Don’t forget about the bowl.”
“Why?”
“Because bowls are important too.”
She looks like she wants to laugh but holds back. “I mean…why do you not have any furniture?”
I shrug and lean against the doorframe. We’re both lingering outside my bedroom, like maybe if we accidentally stepped in there at the same time, the bed would suck us into its vortex. “I can’t decide on anything. It all feels so permanent. It’s a big decision, and I guess…” Oh, I regret tacking on that I guess immediately.
“You guess what?”