I straightened, eyeing the house. There was somebody else I was anxious to see. I had expected Charly to greet me as soon as I arrived, waiting and apprehensive. My gaze skittered toward the garage. Had she moved her things back into her room, so she hadn’t heard me approach? I hoped not. I planned on talking to her about that situation.
I planned on discussing a lot of things with her.
I headed for the house, opening the door and stopping in the kitchen, inhaling. She had dinner for me, and it smelled incredible. Sitting on the counter was a lemon pie, the top browned and glistening. My mouth watered just thinking about tasting it. I moved farther into the house, noting how spotless everything was.
I caught sight of Charly in the living room, and I strode toward her, stopping in shock before I walked into the room.
For a moment, it felt as if I had gone back in time, the room looked so familiar.
Except better.
I made a strange noise low in my throat, and Charly looked up, startled. Our eyes locked across the room, her nervous green meeting my confused brown.
“What have you done?” I managed to rasp.
Her movements were a blur. She rushed toward me, her hands flapping, talking the entire time. “Holy moly, Maxx. I didn’t hear you. Way to give a girl a heart attack. Don’t be mad. Well, be mad if you want, but don’t stay mad. I can change it all back. Easy peasy.”
She reached me, her hands still fluttering. She touched my shoulder, arm, tapped my chest, then clasped her hands across her breasts. “You’re mad. Oh god, you’re so mad, you can’t even speak.” She cupped her cheeks, staring at me in horror. “Are you gonna throw me out?”
I blinked, feeling disoriented. How could anyone talk so fast and flitter around like a mad magpie? And how did her touching me make me feel so completely relaxed?
I reached out and pulled her hands from her face. “I am not throwing you out.”
“Oh, thank god.”
Then she launched herself at me. I stumbled back a step or two, then steadied myself and gripped her hard.
“Don’t be mad,” she repeated. “Please don’t be mad.”
I looked around the room, still in shock. Gone were the bare, white walls. The room had been painted in a deep charcoal—the same color it had been before Shannon moved in. The only white now was on the chair rail and the trim. The pictures I’d had on the walls were back, my favorite chair in the corner. There were new pieces, small items that belonged to my parents scattered in places. Some bright cushions on the sofa. A warm rug I recalled being in one of the bedrooms upstairs covered the hardwood floors. Curtains hung at the windows. The room was warm and homey.
Still holding Charly, I walked forward to the center of the room, turning my head to her ear. “Tell me how,” I demanded. “How did you do this?”
I set her on her feet. She looked up at me, her hands on her hips.
“You told me I could look in the barn for things. I found the paint and boxes marked living room. I looked inside, and Mary told me it was stuff you used to have in here. She recalled helping you pick the paint color.” Charly waved her hands. “This room wasn’t you, Maxx. Everything in the boxes I found was—plus a few items Mary told me belonged to your parents. I thought you’d like them out where you could see them.”
She lifted her chin higher, as if bracing for a fight. “You hired me to make your house comfortable. So, that’s what I did.”
I looked around again. She was right. The room was comfortable, and it was me. Shannon had hated everything about it, preferring modern and minimalistic. She’d packed everything up one weekend while I was away and painted the walls a sterile white. I hadn’t liked it much, but it seemed to make her happy, so I decided not to argue. It was better than listening to her talk about how much she hated the old house. She wanted a sleek, modern place, and I had no desire to live in one. Nor did I want to spend the kind of money she wanted on having a new house built.
It should have been an early warning sign, but as with everything else wrong between us, I had chosen to ignore it.
And now it had happened again. The room had been changed—except this time, it had been done to please me. To make me happy.
It was an odd feeling.
I looked down at Charly, her expression tugging at something inside me. Her chin was jutted out, proud and strong, her stance rigid, but her eyes were filled with worry and trepidation, giving away her inner turmoil.