But the distance returned this morning and hadn’t closed.
The primary bedroom was the last stop. I’d painted it dove gray and hung up some of my art from Mexico that had been in storage.
I gestured to the painting above the bed. “This is by the same artist who did my thigh tattoos.”
He nodded, staring at the painting like he wanted to burn it to a crisp. “Looks good up there. This will be a nice room to wake up in every day. Close to Josephine’s room.”
“It is.” I jiggled her on my hip as she looked around at all the new sights. “Though she’s only ever napped in there. She slept in here with me.”
“She’ll need her crib soon.”
“Yeah. We have to figure that out.” It made me nervous, but it was probably time to give her her own space.
He looked around, nodding. “You did a lot in a short time.”
“I know. A lot of it’s thanks to Miles really narrowing down exactly what needed to be done. I bow to his planning skills,” I quipped, but Elliot barely reacted.
It seemed his mind was elsewhere, just like it had been last night.
We walked down to the living room, and I placed Joey on a pile of blankets with a couple toys. She happily lazed on her back, gumming a rattle.
Elliot toed the ratty couch. “You should probably replace this.”
I scrunched my nose. “I know. It fit when this place was a hovel, but now it looks like it snuck in from the trash pile.”
When we’d begun reno, I’d been thinking I’d be moving back here at the end. But over the last month, my mindset had changed, and I’d started to think I was fixing this place up to sell. The paint I’d chosen was neutral, and I’d talked to Ray and Davida about borrowing some furniture to stage a couple rooms for pictures.
Now, I wasn’t so sure.
Elliot hadn’t asked me to stay or brought it up at all, and he was showing all the signs I had become hyperaware of as a teenager.
Plus, I really needed to stand on my own. Elliot had done so much, even flying to Australia to deal with Liam—which I was deeply embarrassed about. What kind of man wanted to deal with his girlfriend’s…well, baby daddy was the only term for it.
God. No wonder he’s pulling away.
Elliot’s hands were in his pockets instead of on me. “Seems like it’s pretty much finished.”
“Yeah. There’s some tile work that isn’t done in the upstairs bathroom, but it’s basically done. I’m pretty prou—”
“When will you be moving back here?”
My mouth slammed shut, and my heart went boom, shaking me down to my core.
He raised an expectant brow, waiting for my answer. I thought about what Davida would say…what she’d been saying all along. That Joey and I needed our own space. It was fine and dandy to fall in love, but having a home base that was only mine made the most sense.
“Well, I could move back here anytime, really. Obviously, I didn’t want to do it while you were gone, but…”
Tell me to stay. Please tell me and I will.
His jaw rippled. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I nodded, the pieces of my exploded heart fluttering like confetti. “I guess there’s no time like the present.”
This was the right thing to do. Moving back here didn’t mean we were breaking up, even though it felt like it at the moment.
Most couples didn’t live together so early in the relationship. This was a good thing. We’d both have some breathing room and when we saw each other at work and maybe on date nights, it would be even more exciting.
This was for the best.
It was right.
We’d both be happier this way.
And if Elliot really was pulling away from me, I’d already have my lovely home to live in and nurse my shredded fucking heart.
“Efficient,” Elliot muttered. “Right, well, I have to head to the office for a few hours. I’ll take you back to my place so you can pack your things. Anything big I can bring later.”
I straightened my shoulders and put on a shiny smile. “That sounds like a plan. Let’s get going.”
I could be brave. This was a good thing.
Joey and I had been happy living with Elliot, but we would be happy here too. We would make memories, and if we were lucky, Elliot would be part of a lot of them. But if he wasn’t, if he really wanted out, we’d still have each other.
Chapter Thirty-five
Elliot
Ten p.m. on a Saturday night in the office wasn’t unusual for me. In fact, I used to look forward to the weekends so I could spend late nights alone, in silence, getting my work done without anyone bothering me.
The last few months, things had changed, and home had held far more enticement than work.
Until today.
Without Catherine and Joey, I had no interest in returning. My plan was to work until I couldn’t keep my eyes open then go home and crash.
Rinse and repeat tomorrow.
I’d run the moment I’d left her over and over in my head, trying to find something I could have done differently. She hadn’t been flipping with joy when I’d driven away, but she’d been so fucking enthusiastic about her house I hadn’t been able to see a way to deny her.
We weren’t broken up. That wasn’t what I wanted, and I was nearly certain it wasn’t what Catherine wanted. But our relationship was changing in a way I did not agree with.
I would get used to this.
Catherine and I would still see each other daily, and I would be able to see Joey…well, probably not daily anymore.
“Motherfucker.”
A ball of helpless rage shot me to my feet. My chest was too tight. I couldn’t catch my breath. My hands flexed and straightened at my sides.
I wouldn’t see my baby girl every day anymore.
Before I knew I was going to do it, I had ripped my keyboard away from my computer and hurled it across the room. It landed with an impotent clatter, not even having the decency to break.
“Motherfucker!” I bellowed, ripping at my hair in frustration.
My chest hurt. My stomach ached. My lungs were the size of shriveled grapes. I didn’t want to be in this office. I wanted my girls. My family.
Stalking out of my office, I stopped at Catherine’s desk, my gaze landing on her drawer, and I knew what I needed.
A nice dose of P.S. You’re intolerable.
I hadn’t looked in the drawer since she’d been back from maternity leave, and now I wondered what she’d been writing. If she’d been writing.
She didn’t find me intolerable anymore, that much I was sure of. But Catherine still played a lot of her feelings close to the vest.
Sliding the drawer open, I tossed the tampon box aside and retrieved her secret envelope. It was tan instead of white. Frowning at my discovery, I placed it on her desk and sank into her chair.
This envelope was unquestionably thinner than the previous one I’d invaded. It was newer too, and when I peeked inside, there were far fewer strips of paper.