“I’m still adjusting,” Lachlan admits. “But it’s nice having no one know your name.” He looks over at me. “You’d love it.”
“If I ever get out of Fairfax,” I murmur.
“You will,” Lachlan says firmly.
We drive out of the city. Cars start to become sparse and the road becomes smaller and more compact. Lachlan has to slow down to avoid the potholes. Excitement courses through my veins when Lachlan pulls onto a gravel driveway. It started to snow when we left Charlottesville. The headlights illuminate the frozen grains, making them look like millions of snowflakes dancing in the air.
The ride up his driveway is rough. I jostle around in my seat and grab the handle above my head and hang on.
“You drive up and down this daily?”
“Yep.”
“How does your car even have shocks?”
“It’s just a little bumpy,” Lachlan argues.
I shoot him a look.
“Okay…” he says slowly. “It’s really bumpy. But I’ll get it fixed soon.”
A moment later he parks the car. I stare at the house in front of us. “So this is your house.”
It is small. White paint is chipping on the side. A small porch with just a broom leaning against the side of the house. There’s no grandeur. No over-the-top design. It is the exact opposite of how we grew up.
I couldn’t love it more. It reminds me of the cottage out in the woods.
Lachlan tilts his head, giving me a boyish smile that reminds me of the fifteen-year-old boy I fell in love with. “This is it. Does it meet your expectations?”
My opinion matters to him. And even as a kid it had mattered. That’s what makes Lachlan my safety net—I will always matter to him.
“Of course! I love it.”
We both get out of the car. He goes to the trunk and grabs my bag. “What made you choose this place?” I ask.
He slings my bag over his shoulder and grabs my hand. We walk to his house, side by side. “Small. Surrounded by solitude. What’s not to love?”
We stomp the snow away from our shoes as we walk across the porch. Lachlan unlocks the front door and flips the light on next to the door.
There’s a small entryway that leads directly into the kitchen. Probably one of the smallest kitchens I’ve seen, with old appliances the color of avocado.
He drops his keys on the counter and wordlessly guides me to the living room. It’s the biggest room in the house. There is just a beige rug, with a brown leather couch, chair and end table designed around it and a television in the corner. The last piece of decoration is a dozen boxes shoved against the wall.
I point at the boxes. “I love the way you’ve decorated the place.” Lachlan leans against the wall and grins. “It took me a long time.”
I walk forward, looking at each piece of furniture. “I can tell.”
“Tell me, Interior Decorator Naomi, what would you do differently?”
“Well, for one thing, I would put curtains up.” I point to the bay window. “And they would be lace curtains. I would paint the walls a pale yellow. I would keep the rug you have now. Hang some pictures up. Find some beautiful flowers and I would make sure that the bay window was filled with pillows, so I could relax and stare outdoors any time I wanted.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
For him, yes. But if I lived with him, I would do it myself and I would do it with the biggest smile on my face.
“You’re thinking,” Lachlan says.
I correct him, “I’m imagining.”
“Same thing.”
He walks into the kitchen. I hear cabinets open and close. “I knew you would love this place,” he calls out.
I follow Lachlan. “You did?”
He grabs two plates and fills them up with food.
“Of course,” he says absently. “The realtor showed me the house and when I saw the bay window I remember you talking about that as a kid.”
“So technically this house is half mine,” I tease.
Lachlan hands me my plate. I try to take it away. Lachlan keeps his grip. He won’t let go until I look at him. When I finally do, I see the intense look in his eyes.
“Half yours? It’s all yours.”
I just stare at him. He isn’t lying.
“Come on,” Lachlan says. “Let’s eat in the living room.”
We sit in companionable silence and eat our food.
“Are you excited to be out of there?” he asks.
“I can’t believe it,” I confess. “There’s no 20-minute outside breaks. Or a nurse knocking on your door every hour on the hour. I don’t have to hear the constant sound of voices outside my door, and I don’t have to sleep in that terrible room. Plus, the food is much, much better.”
“Yeah?” he asks with a small grin.
I nod. “Burned meatloaf and runny mac and cheese are about as good as it gets there.”
Lachlan swallows. “Does everyone eat together?”
“Mostly. Unless you’ve done something wrong. Then you eat in your room.”
Beneath his slanted brows, his eyes turn hard. I know I’ve said too much. He’s thinking about Fairfax. I’m thinking about Fairfax and I don’t want to. His house was a place that was free from all the dark things looming over me. It should stay that way.
I want to take my words back and start over. I look down at my food, suddenly not feeling hungry at all. I stand up and walk back to the kitchen, putting my plate on the counter. When I walk back into the living room, Lachlan stares straight at me with confusion. I stare at him for a second before I turn off the lights. Slowly making my way to the large window, I cross my arms and stare outside.
Lachlan’s house sits on a hill. From here, I can see the lights of the city flickering bright. I picture people inside their houses, all relaxed and calm. It puts me at peace. It makes me want to stay right here forever.
“What are you doing?” Lachlan asks.
I tap my nail against the glass. “Looking at the view.”
“With the lights off?”
“It’s the best way to see.”
If I was at Fairfax, I wouldn’t see this picture in front of me and I wouldn’t feel this way. Right now, if I want to, I can reach out and touch and experience the world I’m looking at.
Lachlan scoots his chair back. I hear his footsteps and drawers opening and shutting.
Snick. Snick.
It’s a familiar sound that makes my heart speed up.
It takes only seconds for an amber glow to light the room. I look over my shoulder and see Lachlan holding a match in between his fingers. Not a lighter. But a simple matchbook. Just like the ones we used to light off fireworks.
He smirks at me mischievously. His eyes glow brightly from the flame. There is enough heat in his eyes to make me swallow loudly.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Playing with fire.” He jerks his wrist and the fire dies out. “I’m trying to lighten the mood.” His deep voice is closer and my heart starts to speed up. “Remember you used to always blow the matches out?”
“I remember,” I say softly.
I look at the open living room and in the dark I picture all the furniture gone. The wood floor drops out and is replaced with fresh, green grass. Two young people appear. Their heads are bent, backs bowed as they huddle together. Their lips move rapidly. I can’t hear them. And I don’t need to. Their words are seared into my brain. I watch with rapt attention as the boy says, “I got one more firework. Wanna light up the sky?” He holds a match in between them.
And the girl nods and smiles at him. Her heart shines in her eyes. He hands her the match. She takes it.
I close my eyes. When they open, Lachlan has a lit match in his hands. The boy and girl are gone. Furniture is back in place. Those two people have evolved. That girl can now act out her feelings. And that guy still smirks at her but his eyes are white hot.