“Are you saying you want to move in here with me?” That didn’t sound so bad. We spent almost every night together as it was.
“I don’t want to move in here,” Eliot corrected. “This place is a hole.”
I frowned. “Do you want me to move into your apartment? That space isn’t much bigger.”
“You’re really slow sometimes,” Eliot said, chuckling as he shook his head. “I want us to buy a house together. I want to buy a different house. I don’t want to live here, and my apartment is too small. Eventually I want to turn that apartment into an office for my security business.”
Now I was really confused. “You want us to buy a house together?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I thought we could talk about that together,” Eliot said. “We need to pick a house we both like, talk about what both of us need, compromise and then pick a house.”
“And I would sell this house, right?”
Eliot nodded. “Unless … are you attached to this house?”
“I’ve often wished this house would burn down so I could collect the insurance money and start over,” I admitted.
Eliot smirked. “I was thinking we could fix up a few things around here and put the house on the market while we move to my apartment,” he said. “We can put stuff in storage to make things easier, but now is the time to put this place on the market.”
“Do you really want to live with me?” I was dumbfounded. “I thought you were going to dump me because you’d had enough.”
“I don’t like what happened the other night,” Eliot said. “I’m not going to lie. You hurt my feelings. I think I hurt your feelings first, though. We need to communicate better. We can’t do that if we’re always retreating to separate corners. We need to learn to talk things over before they get out of hand.”
“And you want to live in a house with me?” I pressed.
“I want to live with you,” Eliot confirmed. “I want a bigger house than this, don’t get me wrong, but I think we can make do with a four-bedroom house. We can sit down and talk about the specifics later. I told Sheila to send me links to anything in the area she thought might work for us, and I thought we could look at them and start discussing what we liked.”
“And Sheila is who again?”
“A real estate agent.”
“Oh.” Crap. I jumped to the wrong conclusion there. Again.
“Oh,” Eliot said, nodding. “I will never cheat on you. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I know,” I said, flashing him a rueful smile. “When you didn’t respond to my calls and texts my head went to a scary place.”
“It usually does,” Eliot said. “Tell me how you feel about the possibility of moving into a house with me?”
“Excited and nauseated.”
“I’m going to consider that a good thing,” Eliot said, widening his eyes. “What are your questions – I know you have questions?”
Did I have questions? Oh, boy, did I. “Can we get a house with a pool?”
“Yes.”
“Can I take all my Star Wars stuff or are you going to make me sell it?”
“You can take all of your stuff,” Eliot said. “If you agree, I thought we would build a man cave in the basement. We could build a bar, have a big-screen television and have all of your geek stuff down there.”
That sounded nifty. “Do you expect me to clean it?”
“No,” Eliot said, flashing a genuine grin. “I thought we would hire a maid. You would be responsible for picking up your things and not leaving them all over the place, but a maid could take on the big jobs.”
I rubbed my cheek as I considered how to ask the hardest question. “What happens if you get tired of me and we’re sharing a house?”
Eliot’s expression softened. “I’m not going to get tired of you, but if that’s a legitimate worry we can put something in writing about the ownership of the house. You don’t have to worry about me tiring of you, though. That’s never going to happen.”
“Jake said you went to the bar the other night,” I said. “He said you were upset.”
“I did go to the bar,” Eliot said. “I was drowning my sorrows and he listened to me whine for two hours. Where did you see him?”
“He came here yesterday to yell at me,” I explained. “He made fun of my Star Wars pajamas and told me I smelled.”
“I see.”
“Then he told me to get my head out of my butt and beg you to forgive me and stop being a baby,” I added.
“Is that why you decided to fix things today?” Eliot asked. He almost looked worried to hear the answer.
“I guess it’s partly the reason,” I admitted. “I was feeling sorry for myself and missing you and he told me to suck it up and apologize.”
“I missed you, too,” Eliot said, rubbing his thumb against my cheek. “That’s another reason I want us to live together. I don’t want us to have your home and my home anymore. I want us to have our home. Do you think you’re up for that?”
For the first time in two days I felt up for anything. “Did you know they make a Darth Vader toaster?”
Eliot grabbed my cheeks with both hands and planted a scorching kiss on me. When we finally separated and caught our breath I was surprised to find I was still dressed.
“Let’s go to bed,” Eliot said, extending his hand. “Tonight we make up. Tomorrow we start arguing about houses.”
“Does that mean I can get the Darth Vader toaster?”
“Absolutely,” Eliot answered. “If Star Wars pancakes turn you on, just think what Darth Vader toast is going to do for me.”
“They also have a Darth Vader showerhead,” I supplied.
“We’re going to have a talk about a few things,” Eliot said, leading me toward the bedroom. “Not everything in the house can be Star Wars.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“That wasn’t a challenge, Avery. Avery? Avery!”
17
“What are you doing?”
Eliot sleepily opened one eye the next morning and watched me use my deft fingers to maneuver around his phone.
“Is that my phone?”
I froze, briefly wondering whether I’d crossed a line I didn’t see when I gave up trying to sleep two hours earlier. “Are you going to be angry if it is your phone?”
“I don’t know,” Eliot said, rubbing his eyes. “On one hand, I’m mildly turned on that you’re still naked, so I’m probably willing to overlook the privacy invasion. On the other hand, it’s not even nine on a Saturday and I can’t remember you ever being up this early on a weekend. Wait … why are you on my phone?”
“I’m looking at the listings that real estate agent sent you,” I answered. “I Googled her, by the way. We’re going to have to find a different real estate agent. She’s too pretty.”
Eliot snorted. “I’m glad to see you’re excited, but … it’s early. Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep. I have too much on my mind.”
Eliot frowned. “Do you have good or bad things on your mind? Wait … I’m not sure I want to know. Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep,” I replied. “I need to work a few things out. I can do that while looking at the houses Sheila sent. I told you she has to go, right?”
Eliot sighed. “She’s a client’s sister, so she can’t go,” he said. “I promise to wear a T-shirt with your photo on it when she’s around, though. That will let her know that I’m taken … in case she’s really stupid and doesn’t realize that searching for a house with a woman already means I’m taken. Go back to sleep.”
Eliot wrapped his hand around the back of my head and tried to press my cheek against his chest.
“You don’t have to get up,” I said, jerking away. “I need to think.”
Eliot made a fake whimpering sound. “What are you thinking about? If you’re changing your mind about moving in together I’m going to tie you to the be
d until you change it back.”
“I’m not thinking about that,” I said. “I’m excited about that.”
“Really?” Eliot smirked. “You’re kind of cute when you’re excited. Go back to sleep and I’ll reward you with something fun in a few hours when we wake up again.”
“I can’t do that,” I said. “I need to get my story back.”
“I thought you got your story back.”
“MacDonald said he had to look at my documents and then he would give me my story back,” I clarified. “I want it back now.”
“Why? It’s Saturday.”
“I missed out on several days of leads,” I said. “I need to get back on track. Sierra Jackson is still out there. We need to find her.”
“Now you’re going to find her?” Eliot widened his eyes and shook his head. “Do you think maybe you’re getting too involved in this?”
I scorched him with a look. “Do you think I’m getting too involved?”
“I think you’re adorable and I’m not going to argue no matter what you do,” Eliot replied. “If you want to find Sierra, we’ll find Sierra. I refuse to put a wedge between us right now when you’re so cute and happy and I’m so … comfortable.”
“Are you saying you’re not happy?”
“That’s a trap,” Eliot answered, wagging a finger in my face. “I’m on to your ways, woman. I’m happy. I would be happier if you went back to sleep.”
I was just about to give in when my phone dinged. I retrieved it from the nightstand, my heart soaring. “Well, well, well.”
“Oh, gawd,” Eliot muttered, grabbing a pillow and slamming it over his face. “You’re back to being evil. What is it? Wait, I don’t want to know. Tell me. Nope … I really don’t want to know.”
“I got my story back,” I said, throwing the covers off. “I have to get in the shower.”
“Where are you going? We’re supposed to spend the entire day in bed together. You promised last night.”
“Yes, but that was before I officially got my story back,” I said. “There’s a news conference at the father’s house. I have to cover it.”
“Well, I’m definitely not happy now,” Eliot said. “You’ve ruined our makeup day.”
“If you get in the shower I’ll fix things,” I offered. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I promise to make sure you’re happy before I go.”
“You’d better make it good,” Eliot grumbled, rolling out of bed. “I’m going to complain all day if you don’t make me feel pretty.”
“Now who is setting a trap?”
“You’d just better hope you catch me,” Eliot said. “There will be tears if you don’t.”
“LOOK at this place,” Eliot said an hour later, craning his neck so he could scan the street where the Jackson family lived. “There are four news trucks here. I didn’t think we had four local news stations.”
“We technically have three local television stations, but CBS has a vibrant website and runs the talk radio sites,” I said. “There are four broadcast avenues.”
“You’re wise and cute,” Eliot said, kissing the tip of my nose. “I still think we should’ve stayed in bed all day.”
“I will make it up to you,” I said. “This won’t last long. I can write a story from home, and we can spend the rest of the day in bed. You didn’t have to come. You could’ve stayed there waiting for me.”
“I’m not stupid,” Eliot countered. “If I left you to your own devices I wouldn’t have seen you again until you passed out from hunger. We’re spending the day together and that’s all there is to it.”
“You’re cute,” I said, grabbing a notebook from his glove compartment. He’d taken to storing extras there in lieu of listening to me whine. “You can wait here if you want. Hopefully the news conference won’t take too long. I’m sure it’s going to be one of those sobfests for the cameras.”
“I’ll go with you,” Eliot said. He met me on the sidewalk close to his truck two minutes later and looked me up and down. “I like the shirt. It adds a certain ambiance to the situation.”
I glanced down at my “The sass is strong with this one” top. “You bought it for me.”
“To wear to family dinner and drive your mother crazy,” Eliot supplied. “I didn’t think you’d wear it to a news conference about a missing girl.”
I rolled my eyes and made a dramatic face. “I have a hoodie to wear over it,” I said. “No one will be offended.”
“It’s cute that you think that and can say it with a straight face,” Eliot said. “Is anyone going to give me grief for being here?”
“You’re with me.”
“That’s not an answer,” Eliot pressed. “Is anyone going to have a problem with a non-reporter wandering around?”
“Who cares?”
“See, that’s not an answer either,” Eliot said. “This leads me to believe that you’re feeling full of yourself and you’re going to pick a fight with your fellow reporters because … well … you really don’t play well with others.”
“I played well with you last night,” I grumbled, shrugging into my new Star Wars hoodie and earning a headshake from Eliot. “What?”
“When I was a teenager and pictured the woman I would live with someday, the woman I would get to see naked on a regular basis, she didn’t look like you,” he said. “She looked like you naked, don’t get me wrong, but her closet didn’t look like a Hot Topic store threw up.”
“I guess if you could go back in time and talk to your teenage self you would tell him how great your life turned out, huh?”
Eliot smirked. “I think I would,” he said, giving me a quick kiss. “I’m going to walk around the block. I want to check out the neighborhood. Don’t get into trouble you can’t fight your way out of alone until I get back.”
“What makes you think I would do that?”
“I’ve met you,” Eliot answered, not missing a beat. “The good news for you is that I still want to live with you. Be good while I’m gone.”
Part of me wanted to be offended by Eliot’s words. The other part was too happy – and relieved, for that matter – to muster the energy. I ambled over to the end of the Jackson driveway and scanned the assembled media faces.
Because it was Saturday, most of the representatives weren’t high profile faces. The weekly newspapers had a rotating cadre of kids who looked younger with each passing story. It used to be journalists cut their teeth on weekly newspapers before moving on to daily newspapers. The dire state of the journalism industry meant there were precious few daily newspaper jobs, so instead of learning the trade at weeklies, most young reporters realized they were in a dying field and moved on to something in the tech world pretty quickly.
Television reporters don’t have it as bad as print reporters in most ways. Of course, they don’t work as hard as print reporters either. I’m not making it up. It’s a real thing and everyone knows it.
Most television reporters start in the field and hope to work their way up to coveted anchor positions. Since television is sexist, though, most of the female anchors get about five years in the sun – eight if they’re willing to get work done – while their male counterparts can last decades. If most of the female television reporters were tolerable I would feel sorry for them. They’re not, and I don’t.
The only person I recognized was Tim Scallion. He was a Channel 2 reporter who lost it on air last summer when he accidentally swallowed a bug on live television and dropped so many F-bombs the station made an announcement about his rehab stint two days later. I hadn’t seen him since.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, sidling up to him. “Isn’t spring in the suburbs dangerous for you? I would think with all the bugs out here it would be akin to handing an alcoholic a drink.”
Tim made a face that would’ve scared most people. I’m not most people. “Avery Shaw,” he intoned. “I thought you were busted off this story because you made up a bunch of stuff.”
“I don’t make things up,” I shot back. “I’ve been vindicated … and I didn’t even have to attend fake rehab to do it.”
Tim scowled. “You’re always such a bitch.”
“I know,” I said, leaning against his news van and looking him up and down. He looked tired. “Are they making you work weekends to atone for swearing on air?”
“Pretty much,” Tim said. “I’ve been thinking of quitting, but I have no other job skills so I don’t know how that’s going to work.”
“I appreciated it when you said you hoped the people complaining about the crematorium moving into their neighborhood choked to death on a hundred fiery flies,” I said, smiling at the memory. “I believe my favorite part of the rant was when you called them dumb mother … well, you know … and said they deserved for body parts to fall into their ice cream if they really believed that was a possibility.”
“Yes, that was delightful,” Tim said. “You really helped with my meltdown when you suggested I buy Superman ice cream for everyone … with real bits of Superman included to make everyone happy.”
“That actually wasn’t one of my better burns,” I said. “I was caught on the spot without a chance to think up something really snarky.”
“I thought you did well given the circumstances,” Tim said. “What’s the deal with you? How did you get off the hot seat?”
“I found proof that everything the wife told me was true and threw it at the publisher,” I replied. “I only wish I’d set it on fire first.”
“You’re a pip,” Tim said. “You just say whatever comes to your mind, don’t you?”
“Pretty much,” I said, shifting my gaze to the front door. “Here we go. It looks like it’s the stepmother alone. I was hoping for a chance to talk to the father. I guess that’s not happening today.”
“Do you think he’s hiding because you proved him wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think there’s something weird going on with this entire family, though. I think they make white trash look smart and sophisticated. You know that Honey Boo Boo kid? I think she’s classy compared to what’s creeping beneath this family’s surface.”
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