Chapter 7

Willow

Standing on the balcony of my bedroom sipping a cup of coffee as I stare out at the ocean on a Monday morning almost makes up for the fact that I have to jump on a call later this morning.

Working remotely will definitely be an adjustment for me, but when this is the view you get to wake up to, I guess the sacrifice is worth it.

A feeling of peace washes over me as I stand here, such a contrast to the anxiety I felt the first time I stepped into this house. But like Shauna said, I need to treat this as an adventure. Keep an open mind and do something out of the ordinary.

So that's what I'm going to do.

I drop my head down to look for a place to sit on the balcony, even though I know there isn't one. Looks like there's one more item to add to my mile-long to-do list—get a chair.

After I finish my coffee, I hop in the shower, make myself look presentable, and then log in to my call a few minutes early, ready to sync up with Katrina. When I'm satisfied with the plan we've laid out for the week, I end the meeting and decide my schedule is light enough today that I can knock off a few things for this house as well.

As I make my way into town to look for some furniture, I make a pit stop at the bakery to see if they have any muffins left. It's almost noon, but there's no harm in trying. Plus, I kind of want to see if Astrid is there. I need her input on something else too.

"Well, looky here. You're awfully late!" she calls out as soon as the bell rings above the door.

"Yeah, I had a conference call this morning. I know it's a long shot but..." My eyes drift to the display case, where I see nothing but a muffin-shaped void. My heart instantly deflates. "I guess the early bird also catches the muffin."

Astrid flashes me a knowing smile and then reaches behind her for a box, popping the lid open and revealing a dozen muffins. "Call it intuition, but I set these aside for you this morning, just in case."

My jaw drops in shock, and appreciation. "Oh my God. I swear, I think I might cry."

She just laughs and moves to the register, taking her time since the place is empty.

"Thank you so much, Astrid."

She waves it off as I hand her my card. "Don't mention it. In a town this small, you learn to look out for your neighbors. The little things mean the most sometimes."

And her words resonate with me. "Yeah. That's true."

When's the last time someone did something thoughtful like that for me that wasn't related to my job? Better yet, when's the last time I did that for someone else?

"Well, Willow, since you'll be sticking around for a bit longer, I'd like to know more about you. Like what kind of work you do that allows for such flexibility." She slides my card and the receipt across the counter for me to sign.

If it were anyone else pushing me for information, I'd have my guard up in a flash. But there is something about Astrid that makes me want to open up, at least a little. Still, I think I'll keep my millionaire status to myself. People tend to look at you differently when they see dollar signs. "I work in advertising. Basically, people pay me a lot of money to help them make a lot of money."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "That's so awesome! But it sounds stressful."

"It can be, but I'm good at it." I slide my card back in my wallet and then drop it in my purse. "What about you? Working two jobs sounds stressful too."

Her shoulders drop and the change has me on high alert, worried I might have offended her. "It is, but that's life as a single mom."

"Two jobs and you're a mom?"

Her smile returns with my question as she fishes her phone out of her pocket. "Yeah. This is my son, Bentley. He's eleven. And my daughter, Lilly. She's seven." The look of pride on her face is laced with a subtle twinge of pain as she points at the picture on the screen. "They're with my mom right now since school is out for the summer. But on my day off, we're planning a family beach day." Her eyes light up at that.

"That sounds like a good day."

God, I can't remember the last time I laid out in the sun on the beach.

Then her entire body perks up. "You should come with us!"

"Oh, I don't know. I have to—"

"Nonsense!" she says, cutting me off. "It would be fun. It might even help you fall in love with Carrington Cove a little more."

Uneasiness rests in my gut, but part of it is because deep down, I do want to go. "I'll think about it." She nods. But then another question pops into my mind. "If it's not too personal, may I ask about their father?" I ask timidly.

Her eyes instantly drop to the counter in front of her and my pulse picks up. "He, uh…he passed away."

This is why I don't usually ask questions. You never know what kind of nerve you might hit. "Oh, Astrid. I'm so sorry."

She waves me off, sniffling before standing up tall again and plastering a smile on her face once more. "Thank you. He was a Marine. We always knew the risks, but that doesn't make it any easier." I swallow hard, not sure if I should offer up my own loss, but she doesn't give me a chance. "Thank God for Penn, though. He's been a huge help since Brandon died."

"Penn?"

"Yeah. He and Brandon were best friends. We all kind of grew up together. And when Brandon died, Penn made sure I never felt alone, that me and the kids were taken care of. Anytime anything goes wrong with the house or with life in general, he's there or my older brother, Grady, steps in."

I can feel my heart slow down, thinking about how lucky she is to have people like Penn and her brother around to support her. "Well, Penn seems like a good guy. And I know he's handy since he'll be helping out with my renovations."

Astrid's smile could light up the room. "Penn is the best."

"A far cry from Dallas, it seems," I add, shifting the conversation to the person I'm itching to know more about.

Astrid chuckles. "Actually, like I said Friday night, those two are more alike than different."

I scoff. "I find that hard to believe, no offense."

"Oh, you're just lucky enough to have seen Dallas's asshole side before you get to see the good guy he is underneath."

I arch a brow at her, skeptical. "I'm not so sure with everything he's shown me. Did you know that he wants to buy my house?"

"The Bayshore house?" I nod. "Oh yeah, Dallas has wanted that place since we were in high school." I instantly recall him saying that the other day, but he never explained it further.

"Why?"

"Hello? Have you seen the view from that house?" she asks.

And that has me chuckling. "Um, yes. It's stunning. And I plan on enjoying it while I renovate it. Even though Dallas offered to take it as is and do the renovations himself."

She turns to face me head on. "Really?"

"And I told him no."

Astrid chuckles. "Well, that explains some of the animosity between the two of you then."

"He was acting like an ass, and I don't know…" I shake my head.

Astrid eyes me suspiciously, a small smile forming on her lips. "Well, there's still time for you to change your mind about the house…and him."

There is. There's time for me to change my mind about a lot of things.

"Willow?" she asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Yeah?"

She leans over the counter, resting on her forearms. "Dallas really is a good guy, underneath all of that surly attitude, of course. His brother is too. Hell, most of the people you find in this town are good people. He's got his issues, just like anyone else, but don't write him off just yet. You probably caught him off guard. It's been a long time since I've seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you…"

"What?" I bark out through a laugh. "I think you've got it all wrong, Astrid. The man acts like he can barely stand the sight of me."

She just hums. "I know what I saw." But then she changes the subject. "Obviously though, because you own the house that he wants, he's going to throw a fit about it. I mean, the old owner of that house wouldn't even meet with him when he offered to buy the place…"

Yeah, because he was saving it for me.

"I've known his family for more than half my life, and I've worked for him for the past four years. I think if you two sat down and talked, you might be able to reach an agreement."

"I'm—I'm not even sure what I want to do with the house yet, Astrid." I blow out a harsh breath, my stomach feeling uneasy again. "I had no idea I would be inheriting the place. It all happened so fast, and now I have to make all of these decisions…"

She places her hand on mine this time. "I get it. Believe me. Life can change in an instant," she says as her voice begins to crack. "But time helps put things into perspective. Just keep an open mind when it comes to Dallas. And maybe Penn can give you some insight into his brother as well."

"Those boys sure are attractive, aren't they?" I whisper, shocking myself at my candid words. But let's be honest—my attraction toward the man is clouding my judgment and making this far more complicated than it already is.

Astrid laughs as she stands up again. "Oh, yes they are. And their other brother is too."

"There's another brother?"

She nods. "Yup. Parker. He's the vet here in town."

"Wow."

"And they have a little sister, Hazel."

My eyes bug out. "I couldn't imagine having that many siblings."

"Only child?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Where are you from?"

"Virginia. But I've lived in D.C. for the past eight years."

"Big city life is very different from life in Carrington Cove."

I scoff. "You're telling me."

"Well, enjoy this place while you're here then and don't be a stranger. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here." She squeezes my hand again before I reach for the box of muffins. "And I'll try to keep some muffins put aside for you."

"I appreciate that, Astrid. A lot. Thank you."

Ugh, my chest feels all warm and fuzzy right now.

Am I developing feelings for this town?

Or just the woman in front of me that has offered me friendship with no strings attached?

"Anytime. And hey, let me get your number while you're here. I'm not letting you out of this beach trip." With a cunning smile, she pulls her phone back out of her pocket as I rattle off my number to her. "I'm gonna text you so you have mine too."

I feel my phone vibrate in my purse. "Okay. Thank you."

"Have a good day! And good luck with the house!" she calls after me as I wave with my free hand and make my way out to my car, ready to find a few things I can work on to fill in the time between work and when Penn is scheduled to swing by the house later.

And maybe I can push Penn to give me more insight into his brother, too.

***

I drag my chosen chair in its bulky cardboard box up to the register, stopping every few feet to catch my breath. Of course the one I liked the most was also the biggest. It's not like this tiny hardware store had much to choose from anyway, but, seeing as the only other place to buy furniture around here is the dollar store, I figured I'd have better odds here.

I was also hoping to run into Penn since I had a few questions for him, but he's nowhere to be found. Instead, the older woman behind the counter watches me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, not bothering to assist.

"Having some trouble?" It's more a statement of the obvious than an actual question. When I only grunt in response, she asks, "What's a little thing like you doing with a chair that size anyway?"

"It's for my new house," I huff out as I continue to drag the box with what little upper body strength I possess.

"New in town, huh?" she prompts as she leans on the counter, her interest clearly piqued.

"I am. And I just need to pay for this chair and get it home, okay?" This damn chair better be worth all of this trouble.

"Good choice." A voice to my right pulls my attention, and the person it belongs to holds it for a moment before I realize I'm staring.

Dallas.

"That's the one I had my eye on for the balcony," he says.

The thump of my heart has me taking a moment to gather my thoughts. "Um, yeah, that's what I was planning."

"Gotta have somewhere to sit to watch the sunrise and sunset, right?" He walks over to me and takes the cardboard behemoth from my hands, lifting it with ease and walking around me toward the register.

"I had that!" I call out as he walks away from me, carrying the box like it's as light as a feather.

"Just say thank you, Willow," he says over his shoulder as I sigh in defeat.

"Thank you," I mutter, trailing him as the employee watches us both now with her eyes bugged out.

"Mrs. Hansen." Dallas nods at the woman as he leans the box against the counter. "How are the puppies doing?"

Her face lights up for the first time since I've walked in here, and her eyes finally focus on something other than me. "Oh, they are perfect. Such a rambunctious little bunch. Your brother came by yesterday to check on them."

"Sounds like Parker is doing his job, then."

"All of you boys are responsible and loyal to a fault. Your daddy would be proud of y'all."

I watch Dallas's face fall, but he simply clears his throat and nods. "Thank you."

"Such a shame the cancer took him so young." She shakes her head as she holds up a handheld scanner to the box.

I try to make it look like I'm not paying attention, but she is doing a better job of offering up information about this man than Astrid did earlier today.

His dad died from cancer? Well, that presents some intriguing insight.

Seems we actually have something in common.

"Yes. It is." He flicks his eyes over to mine. "I think Willow here needs to pay so she can get going, right?"

"Oh. Yes. Go ahead and insert your card into the machine, dear." Her voice has taken on a much lighter tone as I break my stare with Dallas and pay for my item.

"Thank you." She hands me the receipt just as Dallas turns to face me.

"So how did you plan on getting this thing back to your house?"

"Uh, I have a car." I point out the window to my Tesla.

He shakes his head, his smile full of amusement and cockiness. "Like this is going to fit in that."

"Yes, it will," I say with determination. "I can slide this into the backseat, no problem."

He arches a brow. "Is that so?"

"Oh, absolutely. Don't underestimate me, Dallas."

"Well, this I can't wait to see, Willow." The low grumble of his voice makes me wonder what my name would sound like coming off of his lips while his head is between my legs, and the thought has me tripping over the box in front of me as soon as I try to step around it.

"Whoa." Dallas reaches out to prevent me from falling forward. "Easy, Goose."

"Goose?" I ask incredulously when I find my footing again.

He smirks, and suddenly I want to slap that smirk off his face. "Yeah, seemed more fitting than ‘Tiger.'"

"Ha. Ha." I fake a laugh, straighten my blouse, and then make my way out to my car, assuming that Dallas is going to carry the box out for me. Luckily, when I look back over my shoulder, he's following with the box in his arms.

We arrive at the rear passenger door, and after I unlock it and set my purse inside, I attempt to lift the box and turn it so it will fit through the doorway. I twist and turn the box, trying various angles and approaches to make it fit. Despite my efforts, including pushing, pulling, and a bit of seat adjustment, the box refuses to comply, stubbornly remaining a few frustrating inches too big.

"Ugh. Stupid box." I let it fall onto the asphalt beneath me just as Dallas's laugh rings out.

"Damn. I want to say I told you so, but that was just too damn easy. Thank you for the entertainment though."

"That's not necessary," I huff, glaring at him over my shoulder. "Damn it." Irritation bubbles inside of me, more so because I have him as an audience to my monumental fail than the new problem I now have to solve.

He sighs and the sound of him scratching his chin through his beard draws my eyes back to his face.

Damn. That beard will be the death of me.

"Look. I have a little time before I have to be at the restaurant, and lucky for you, I drove my truck today. I can take it to the house for you."

I cross my arms and eye him skeptically. "And why would you do that? Newsflash, but you and I don't exactly get along."

He smiles. "That's a matter of opinion." His gaze moves down my entire body before focusing back on my face. And the way he's assessing me right now has my body temperature rising to levels I don't think are healthy. "But to answer your question, sometimes people just do nice things to be nice, Willow. It's one of the charms of living in a small town."

"But how do I know that you're not offering so that you can get me alone and murder me, make it look like I was crushed by this box in a freak accident, and then jump on the house the second I'm dead?"

He stares at me, blinking slowly before bursting into laughter. "Oh fuck. That's good."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a piece of work, Goose."

"Stop calling me that," I seethe through clenched teeth.

He huffs out a laugh again while shaking his head. "Nope. Can't do it. Especially now that I know it gets under your skin."

I throw my hands up. "God, you're a child."

"And you need my help. So what's it going to be, Willow?" He mimics my stance, crossing his arms and putting those strong, sinewed forearms on display, taunting me.

Silence rests between us as I debate my options, which are pretty cut and dry at this point—i.e., I have none.

"Fine. If you could bring the box over, I would appreciate it."

"Happy to. All you have to do is say the magic word."

My mouth drops open slightly. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Goose." He taps his temple mockingly, leaning toward me and narrowing his eyes. "Think really hard."

I squint back at him, hoping I'll suddenly shoot lasers from my eyes and he'll turn to dust right in front of me. Sadly, this isn't a sci-fi romance. Wait, this isn't a romance at all, which makes that thought perplexing.

"Please," I grate out, and his smile builds to an unworldly degree.

"Attagirl." With a wink in my direction, he bends down, hoists the box over his head, and walks just a few feet to a black truck, depositing the box in the bed of it. "I'll see you there."

He turns toward his driver side door and hops inside, leaving me standing by my car, confused by the anger and desire mixing inside of me right now.

How can you want to punch someone in the face but want to ride that face at the same time?

Let me just add the undeniable attraction I feel for him to my long list of things to deal with that doesn't seem to get any shorter as the days go by.

***

"Can you take it up the stairs, please?" I ask Dallas as he carries the box through the front door. Luckily, the geese are not around to make this delivery any more difficult.

"I'm impressed. You said please without me having to remind you."

"Dear lord, what have I done to deserve this," I mutter, closing the door behind him and watching his jean-clad legs carry the box up my stairs, putting his round ass on display.

Reluctantly, I follow his lead and find him in the middle of my room, staring out at the ocean through the sliding glass door.

"Damn. This view is even better than I imagined," he says, his voice low and full of awe.

Taken aback, I drop my tone to match his. "You've never been in here?"

He shakes his head slowly. "Nope. I wanted to, but never got the opportunity. I've looked through the windows on the first floor each time I'd come by, but never stepped foot inside until the other day when I came to talk to you." His eyes are still focused on the view in front of him.

"Are you telling me I'll have to watch out for you spying on me now?"

He twists to face me, crossing his arms over his chest yet again. I don't know if he does it to put off a commanding presence, or because he knows how good it makes his entire upper body look.

His lips turn up on one side. "Guess you'll just have to wait and find out, won't you?"

"You're not helping your case right now, Dallas," I tease, stepping around him to break our eye contact and to get my heart to slow the furious pace at which it's pumping. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a chair to put together."

"Do you even have tools?"

Defeat pulls my shoulders down as I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. "No."

"So how are you planning on putting this together?"

"Through telepathy?" I wince, turning around to face him.

He laughs. "Right. You know, I happen to have a few tools in my truck. I could…help you…if you want." His offer isn't solid, more like unsure, waiting on my reaction.

But I feel like there must be an ulterior motive because this man can't possibly just be that nice, especially given our interactions so far. "You don't have to help me, Dallas. I can figure this out."

He steps forward, closing the distance between us, forcing me to lean my head back so I can meet his eyes. Sweat mixed with the spice of his deodorant or cologne has me drawing in a deep breath, soaking in his smell.

Damn. He smells good—like a man that isn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

And you don't find a lot of those where I live.

"Contrary to what you think you know about me, I help those in need." His voice is solid now. "It's ingrained in me. Twelve years in the Marines will do that to you. And despite our irritation-fueled conversations so far, a part of me is hoping that you'll change your mind about the house if you see I'm not a complete asshole."

"At least you're being honest."

I watch his eyes dip down to my lips briefly, but then he takes a step back and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm always honest, Willow. And that goes for my offer. I can put the chair together for you…if you want. Or I can leave. It's your call."

With no other options, I accept his offer. It definitely has nothing to do with the way his ass looks in those jeans. "That would be nice. Thank you."

With a quick nod, he heads downstairs and I hear the door open and shut. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I run into my bathroom to check my appearance. Smoothing down any flyaway hairs from my bun, I spritz hairspray over my head and then put some clear gloss over my lips.

Everything seems to be put in place on the outside, but inside? I'm squirming. My heart is racing. My body is humming with nerves at the thought of being around this man for a significant length of time.

Who knew that lust and hate could feel so very similar?

I can't like him. I can't want him. Getting involved with someone to that degree—especially a man who has openly admitted he's being nice to me because he wants me to sell him my house—is not a rational decision. But I know damn well that Shauna would approve. She'd push me into him and hope my face falls on his penis.

Sighing out loud and muttering to myself about what an idiot I am, I completely miss the sound of Dallas coming back up the stairs.

"Talking to yourself?"

I spin on my heels, clutching my hand to my chest with surprise. "Jesus Christ. Warn a person, will you? Did you pick up that skill from your brother?"

"I thought that's what I was doing." He steps further into the room and wields a pocket knife from his jeans as he sets a bag of tools down on the carpet. "And when did Penn scare you?"

Slicing open the cardboard, he extracts the pieces of the rocking chair from the box as I take a seat on the edge of my bed, grateful I had one delivered while I was back in D.C. "At the hardware store last week."

"So how long are you staying?" Dallas asks as he gets comfortable on the floor and starts reading the instructions.

For a man to do such a thing—I'm impressed.

"Two months as of right now. Potentially three. Your brother seems to think that will be enough time."

He nods. "With a new roof, flooring, fixtures…that sounds about right."

"How did you—" I stop talking once I realize he probably spoke with him. "He told you?"

He nods again. "Yup. I was curious in case I could convince you to let me take the place off your hands."

An uncomfortable silence falls between us. I've already made it clear to him that I don't plan on selling right now. But each time he brings it up, it makes me more uneasy.

"So you've lived here your entire life?" I ask, changing the subject while I watch his forearms flex each time he tightens a screw, assembling yet another piece of the chair.

"Except for my time in the Marines, yes."

"The Marines, huh? That must have been interesting."

He scoffs. "Interesting is one way of putting it."

"Why do you say that?"

Shaking his head, he grabs another tool and keeps putting pieces together. "War isn't interesting, Willow. It's violent. Risky. There are days when you don't know if the sunrise will be the last one you ever see." His words falter, but I hang on to each one of them as they dredge up emotions I've been fighting to keep at bay.

I wonder if my parents ever thought the same thing while they were overseas.

"I take it you were in Iraq then?"

"Afghanistan, mostly." He searches on the floor around him before finally looking up at me. And his eyes are darker somehow, but with pain laced in the edges of his irises. "Can you hand me the hammer in my bag, please?"

I stand from the bed and reach down, shuffling through his bag before locating the hammer and handing it to him. But when I look up, I see his eyes trained on my chest, the sliver of my boobs displayed through the opening of the neckline that fell when I bent over.

He clears his throat, realizing he's been caught as I settle back down on the bed.

"Well, you must have made your family proud by serving your country. It's a noble thing to do."

He scoffs, shaking his head as he hammers a rod in place. "Not all parents support such a decision."

"What do you—"

"So where are you from, Willow?" he asks, changing the subject and cutting me off. The question lingers in my brain, but his next words are full of sarcasm and divert my attention. "I obviously know it's not here. We've pinpointed that detail the first night we met." His cocky grin is back along with my urge to twist his nipple.

"Virginia originally. Washington, D.C. for the last eight years."

"And what do you do there?"

Ah, the burning question I find myself hating to answer the longer I'm here. "I work in advertising," I reply, stretching the truth a bit.

"Impressive. Do you enjoy it?"

"I'm good at it."

He glares up at me. "That's not what I asked."

"Yes. I enjoy it," I reply, but something about my tone doesn't settle well with either of us.

"I don't believe you."

"What do you want me to say? I make good money. I live a good life." He shakes his head at me. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What happened to you'll always be honest with me?"

That draws his attention back to me, determination in his eyes and voice. "Fine. You want the truth?" I raise my brow at him. "You don't sound happy. In fact, the first night I met you all I could see was a woman who was unhappy, unfulfilled, and lost." My heart is pounding. "But what do I know?"

Standing from the bed, I walk toward the window, needing to look anywhere but at him.

How could he get all of that from that brief interaction? From a moment when two strangers simply exchanged a few words, and not nice ones at that?

For someone who prides myself on being closed off and holding my emotions close to the vest, this man sure dialed me in within moments of meeting me.

"You're not entirely wrong, but I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

"Consider it dropped." I hear him shifting against the ground, and when I turn around, I see the makings of the chair standing before me. "Just a few more pieces."

"I'll be downstairs." I walk past him, needing space, needing to reset my frame of mind.

Having this man in my house is making me question too many things. And I know that's what I came here to do—work through my shit, get some space from the life I've been living for the past twelve years. I just didn't anticipate a complete stranger calling me out on it.

Ten minutes later, Dallas comes down the stairs with his tool bag in hand. "All done. I put it outside for you. It looks good out there."

"Thank you." I force down the lump in my throat and then we stand there, staring at each other.

"You know, Carrington Cove is a good place to get lost in, Willow." His words are soft, but the meaning behind them is not. His brow pinches and then his hand moves toward me, inching closer to my face before he catches himself and retracts it. Breaking our stare, his eyes shift to the ground. "I guess I'll see you around…"

Nerves race through me, but all I can manage to say is, "More like stalk me, right?" Thankfully, he lightly smiles at that.

"Sure, Willow. Whatever you say." He pauses before he grabs the doorknob. "Just do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

He points down at the floors. "Don't rip up the hardwood. It just needs a good polish. The original wood is part of what makes this house special."

I tilt my head at him, fighting a smile. "That was the plan. Contrary to what you might think, I'm not going to completely rip the house apart. It's too special to do that."

"At least you have half a brain in there."

I roll my eyes playfully. "There you go insulting me again."

His head drops, eyes closing. "Fuck, Willow. I didn't mean it like that."

I hold my palm up. "I'm just kidding, Dallas. But good to know you at least have half a heart in there." I move forward to poke his chest jokingly, but that proves to be a big mistake.

Solid muscle barely gives way under the press of my finger against his pec. And getting close to him again allows me to see deeper into those dark chocolate pools of sadness and spite he has for eyes.

I may be dealing with some issues, but it seems to me that Dallas is probably battling his own, too. And as much as I enjoy sparring with the man, perhaps it would serve me best to remember that every person we cross is fighting battles we know nothing about.

"Have a good rest of your day, Willow," he finally says, a crack in his voice, retreating from our close proximity and moving for the door again.

"You too. And thanks again for your help. There's one problem gone off a long list of others."

"I'm sure you'll solve them soon enough." And with those parting words, he opens and shuts the door behind him, leaving me trailing him with my eyes through the windows on the side of the house until I can no longer see him.

And my heart lurches at the reality of being alone once again.