“Yeah, especially since I thought your life was in the city.” I didn’t mean for that to come out rude, but it did. Gentling my voice, I ask, “What brings you back home?”
Staring at the ground, clutching her purse to her side, she says, “My dad. He’s, uh, not doing well.” Duh, Mrs. Ferguson mentioned something like that. I’m so damn overwhelmed and shocked right now though, that entire conversation I had with Mrs. Ferguson is not registering in my mind.
“Oh no.” My brow pinches together in concern. “What happened?”
She waves me off. “Nothing you need to worry about.” And just like that she shuts me down. Honestly, I’m surprised she said that much to me after how we ended things between us.
Yes, there was an us, a perfectly beautiful, love-filled us. Amelia Santos was the best thing to ever happen to me, and yet, she was also the worst. During a time when my heart broke from every uncaring glance from my mom, Amelia resurrected me from the ashes I would have otherwise drowned in. She was my rock, the one solid feature in my life.
She was also my downfall.
She was going places, and I wasn’t. She had opportunity, and I had none. She wanted me to move with her, and I couldn’t, but no way in hell would I hold her back. I barely made it out of my mom’s house. There were many days when I tried hard to earn a buck so I could find a place to live other than the homeless shelter where I spent many lonely nights. Amelia deserved better than that, so I pushed her away to achieve her dreams. Little did I know, breaking up with her would send me in the biggest downward spiral of my life. The only reason I’m the man I am today is because after hitting rock bottom, I knew things needed to change, and it was up to me to make something of myself. So I worked my ass off. And now at thirty, I can say proudly that I’m a co-owner of an up-and-coming construction company as well as the proud owner of a house in the heart of Hillcrest, a beautiful two-story house. I’m doing well for myself . . . at least that’s what I thought until Amelia stepped out of her car.
Now I’m questioning every little thing about my life leading to this point.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I won’t keep you long. I’m sure you’ve had a long drive and want to get settled.” I hold out my hand. “Here is a key to the house as well as the garage door opener.” I hand her the Ziploc bag Mrs. Ferguson put everything in. She takes it but steps back immediately, as if being too close to me might burn her. “Trash day is Tuesdays. If you want, I can move your trash can forward for you so you don’t have to bother.”
“I can handle it,” she says quickly.
I nod. “Uh, the place is fully furnished, cleaned, and ready for you to move in. If you see anything abnormal, just let me know, and I’ll bring it to Mrs. Ferguson’s attention. I did a walk-through this morning, and it all looked good. If you encounter any issues at all, please feel free to contact me. I left my card with my number in the bag in case anything goes wrong. That’s my cell number so you can text or call, either works.” She nods, avoiding all eye contact with me. “Unless you have any questions, I can help you unload.”
“That’s not necessary. I don’t have a lot.”
I check out the back of her car. She really doesn’t, but I’m still not going to make her do it by herself.
“I promised Mrs. Ferguson I would help. We are surrounded by her old cronies.” I motion toward the neighborhood. “No doubt they’re staring at us now so if I don’t help, I know Mrs. Ferguson will give me grief. I’d rather avoid that if I could.”
She nibbles on her lip, worry in her eyes. Is she nervous around me? Worried I could hurt her? Might try to pick up where we left off before I broke both our hearts?
“Well, I don’t want to upset Mrs. Ferguson, as she is my landlord and all.”
“And a tough old bird. She might sound sweet, but you don’t want to cross her,” I gently tease.
“Noted.” Amelia looks up at me and lightly smiles, and just like that, my heart starts pumping blood through my veins feverously. That smile, fuck, it has the same effect on me as it did five years ago since we first met.
I start toward the back of her car, wanting to break the tension rolling through my body. “Why don’t you go open up the house and look around while I start unpacking. Anything fragile I need to be careful with?”
Turning toward me, she gives me a look, a look that says I already broke the one thing that mattered the most . . .
Her phone rings and she answers immediately with a smile on her face. “Hey, honey. Yeah, I made it just fine.”
And from the sound of it, someone else swooped in and picked up the pieces of her heart I shattered so terribly.
She’s with someone else now.
She giggles and walks toward the house, her soft voice that used to caress my ears now reserved for another man, a different man. Why did I think otherwise? Only an absolute idiot would let someone like Amelia Santos go.
An absolute idiot, or an undeserving man who knew she deserved the world.
Wanting to get this over with, I open the trunk of her SUV and I’m immediately smacked in the face by her perfume. Dolce & Gabbana, Light Blue. I would know that scent anywhere. It was the scent sprayed on my pillow to ease the ache in my chest when I wasn’t with her, and it was the smell I would breathe in when my girl was wrapped in my arms.
It’s the smell that has haunted me.
It’s the smell I’ve craved for years.
My body aches, my stomach rolling on itself from being reminded of a past I tried so desperately to bury, tried to get over, but with Amelia here, memories float in and out of my head. The good times we had together come to the forefront of my mind, making it impossible to deny wanting her.
“Fuck,” I mutter while trying to take a deep breath and get my head on straight.
There’s a reason why you broke up with her . . .
And yet, all those reasons don’t exist anymore. I’m a different person than the boy she knew when she was in college. I’m a man with a future, with a promise to support and love her and yet, I’m too late.
Her laugh echoes through the house, traveling out to the driveway where I stand, mourning what I used to have. What I threw away. Gave away.
Whoever she’s talking to is one lucky bastard, that’s for damn sure.
***
I set down the last box and take a look around Amelia’s new space. It actually fits her. At least it fits the girl I used to know. “I believe that’s it. Do you need help with anything else?”
“I’m good.” She shakes her head, not making eye contact with me.
To say the last twenty minutes has been awkward is an understatement. We didn’t really speak to each other besides the occasional “Where would you like this box?” From the hurt in her eyes when she looks at me, Amelia is still affected by our breakup. It guts me.
“Okay, well I’m right next door. You have my number. If anything goes wrong with the house, let me know and I’ll come over and fix it. The grass shouldn’t need another mow, but if it does, I’ll be sure to take care of that. Snow removal is on me as well.”