He hesitated. "Who told you I sold it?"
"Well, for one thing, the sign."
"What sign?"
"The sold sign," I said. "You know, in the front yard."
"Well, I didn't put it there."
At this, a spark of wild hope kindled in my heart. "So, what are saying? You didn't sell the house?"
"Well…I didn't want to sell it," he said. "I just had to, that's all."
My heart sank. So much for hope.
Jason said, "So who told you it was sold?"
By now, my jaw was so tight, I could hardly speak. "You mean aside from the sign? And from the fact you stood me up?"
"Sure, whatever. How'd you find out?"
The question grated. "Does it matter?"
"It might."
"Fine," I said. "I heard it from the guy you sold it to."
At this, Jason swallowed so loud, I actually heard it through the phone. Sounding sick to his stomach, he said, "You did?"
"Well, I certainly didn't hear it from you."
In a hushed voice, he said, "He's not with you now, is he?"
Brody? No. But he was still nearer than I would've liked. From somewhere just outside the bathroom, I could hear his voice, muffled, but unmistakable as he and Waverly discussed whatever.
When she gave a flirty laugh, it reminded me of fingernails on a chalkboard. Or maybe I was just irritated with everyone, especially my elusive cousin.
In reply to his question, I told him, "No one's with me. I'm in a room by myself."
"You mean in Lansing?"
Obviously, he meant East Lansing, where Michigan State was located. "No. I graduated. Just last week. Remember?"
"But you're not still here in Bayside, are you?" He hesitated. "I mean, you went back home to Lansing, right?"
Didn't he get it? East Lansing wasn't home. This was home. After graduation, I'd been planning to build a life here, to get a local job, to fix up the house and keep it in the family.
And if Jason thought I'd simply wander off into the sunset, it was time to inform him otherwise. "I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers."
"From who?"
"From you. Obviously."
"Oh. Right." Again, he hesitated. "So where are you staying?"
"At the house across the street."
"From where?" he asked.
"From Grandpa and Grandma's place." My fingers clenched around the phone. "You know, the house we supposedly owned together?"
"Shit."
With growing irritation, I said, "What now?"
"Nothing," he said. "Just do me a favor. Don't tell anyone I called, alright?"
Talk about nerve. "Why should I do you a favor? You totally screwed me over. You do realize that, right?"
"Hey, it wasn't my fault."
I considered all the money I'd sent him, and the all of the plans he'd ruined by selling the property out from under me. "Well it certainly wasn't my fault."
"I know," he said. "But don't worry. I'm gonna make it right."
"How?" I demanded.
"I just will," he said. "Trust me, okay?"
I gave a snort of derision. "Like I trusted you to keep the house?"
"Alright, maybe I deserved that," he said. "But when I explain, you'll get it. I promise."
Now, this I had to hear. "Alright, fine. Go ahead."
"Sorry, what?"
"Go ahead and explain. I'm waiting."
"Later," he said. "I've gotta go."
"But—"
I heard a click, and then dead silence.
Damn it.
When I tried to call him back, he didn't answer.
Lovely.
After a few choice words, I emerged from the bathroom more confused than ever, especially when I found myself alone.
I stopped in the bathroom doorway and looked around. Waverly and Brody were nowhere in sight. The bedroom door was now shut, and I heard no noises from the other side.
But I'd be a fool to get too comfortable. After all, it was only a matter of time before Waverly barged in and demanded the bedroom.
Looking to get it over with already, I did a final sweep, checking inside the closet and under the bed for anything of mine that might've fallen out of sight.
When I found nothing, I returned to the dresser and scooped up the pile of receipts and shoved them into the duffle bag, on top of the rest of the stuff.
I left the bedroom with my bag slung over my shoulder, only to find a new reason to be confused. Except for myself, the house was empty.
Well, that was weird.
Even weirder, there was a note taped to the fridge, written in bright purple ink. It said, "Arden – I've decided I don't want that bedroom after all. So it's all yours. You're welcome. Waverly."
More confused than ever, I glanced around. When my gaze landed on the living room, I did a double-take.
Waverly's suitcases were gone.
What did that mean?
I wandered to the front window and peered outside. I saw no sign of Brody's truck.
My pulse quickened. Maybe they'd decided to stay at a hotel or something?
I considered this possibility for nearly an hour until curiosity overcame my better instincts.
Silently, I padded down the bedroom hall and listened at each bedroom door for the sounds of activity.
I heard nothing.
Feeling like a total idiot, I called out, "Hello? Is anyone home?"
Silence.
Cautiously, I opened the nearest bedroom door and peered inside. On the floor near the bed was a single black duffle bag. Brody's?
Probably.
I padded to the second bedroom and rapped lightly on the door before calling out again. When I received no response, I pushed open the door and frowned at what I saw inside. There it was – all of Waverly's luggage lined up against the far wall.
Apparently, I still had roommates – and my bedroom.
By now, I had no idea what to think.
Had Brody stuck up for me?
It seemed incredibly unlikely. But no other theory made sense.
Already, I'd figured out that he wasn't the same person I recalled from high school. But what he'd become since then, I couldn’t be sure.
And all of the mixed signals weren't helping.
Sometime around midnight, I was hiding out in my bedroom when Brody and Waverly returned from who-knows-where. Maybe dinner? Or something else?
As far as my own dinner, I'd eaten alone, consuming the rest of the pizza from the previous night.
After the return of my roommates, I remained firmly in my bedroom, preferring solitude over their dubious company.
Waverly, I could handle. But Brody? He made me nervous, because my feelings for him swung so wildly – from pure hatred to something a lot more unsettling.
Right then and there, I decided that I'd be smart to avoid him as much as possible.
And I would've, too, if only I weren't forced to spend some serious time with him the very next day.
Chapter 28
Arden
I gave Roy a puzzled look. "But what are we supposed to talk about?"
"That's up to you," Roy said, hoisting his video camera higher onto his shoulder. "It's visual only. No audio."
I was standing on my grandparent's front porch with Roy and Brody. It was just past seven-thirty in the morning, and Roy had greeted me at the front door with an unsettling announcement. Apparently, Brody and I would begin the day by walking along the beach while Roy filmed us.
I gave Brody a sideways glance. From the look on his face, he wasn't any happier about this than I was.
I asked Roy, "But what does that have to do with the house?"
"You're the consultant," Roy said, as if this explained everything.
It didn't. "But—
Brody spoke up. "Let's just get it over with, alright?"
My jaw clenched. Get it over with? Like it was some sort of punishment? "Fine." I looked back to Roy. "Ju
st point me where I need to go."
In reply, Roy flicked his head toward the rear of the house, the part that faced the beach. "Act like you're showing him the sights or something – you know, sunrise over the beach and all that."
I loved the beach at sunrise.
While living with my grandparents, I'd seen it so many times that maybe it should've gotten old and boring. But it never had. And, considering how much I loved it, it probably never would.
Under normal circumstances, I'd be thrilled to share it with just about anyone – well, anyone except Brody Blastoviak, especially with the way he was looking at me now.
Judging from his expression, he'd rather be anywhere but here – and with anyone but me. As he looked me over, I returned the favor, giving him the same level of scrutiny.
Today, he was wearing his usual getup – jeans and a T-shirt, along with heavy work boots. His jeans were slightly loose, hanging low on his hips and hinting at the amazing abs resting just above the button of his faded jeans.
Thanks to the loose cut of his shirt, I couldn’t actually see his abs, but I'd caught enough glimpses over the past couple of days to imagine plenty, assuming that I cared to dwell on it, which I totally didn't.
When I refused to look away, Brody said, "Is there a problem?"
I stiffened at his tone. "Yes, actually."
I gave his boots a long, concerned look. During the whole time I'd lived at my grandparent's place, I'd never seen anyone strolling along the beach in work boots.
Since I was supposedly the consultant here, was this something I should point out?
Probably.
I looked to Roy and said, "If you want it to look authentic, shouldn't he be wearing tennis shoes or something?"
Brody's voice sliced out between us. "The boots are fine. It's a discussion, not a date."
I felt my eyes narrow. Talk about arrogant.
"Good," I said. "Because I wouldn't want to date you, anyway."
"Good," he shot back. "Because you're not my type."
"Yeah? Well you're not my type either."
He glowered at me. I glowered at him. And then, as if remembering that we had an audience, we both looked to Roy.
Son-of-a-bitch.
Roy was smiling like he'd just gotten lucky. And he was filming us.
Of course.
I gave Roy the squinty-eye. "You did say this was visual only, right?"
In reply, Roy made that now-familiar forwarding motion with his hand, as if to indicate that we should ignore him and keep on doing whatever.
Suddenly, I decided that Brody had the right idea. Let's just get it over with.
Without further commentary, I turned and stomped toward the rear of the house, with Brody at my side.
In spite of the work boots, his stride was long and easy, especially compared to my own. But as far as everything else, there was nothing easy about him. As we traveled ever closer to the beach, I studied him from the corner of my eye. His jaw was set, and his mouth was tight. From head to toe, he looked royally irritated.
Yeah, welcome to the club, buddy.
By the time we reached the actual beach, I'd already had more than enough of his attitude.
Still, a job was a job, so I turned to the right, ignoring the glorious ocean-like view as I stalked stubbornly along the water's edge without saying a single word to my equally silent companion.
When I snuck a quick glance over my shoulder, Roy was following along behind us, out of earshot, but filming nonetheless.
When he saw me looking, he called out, "You're supposed to be talking, remember?"
I looked forward and muttered, "As if he could tell."
Next to me, Brody gave a low scoff. "He can. Trust me. I know."
And that was the extent of our conversation.
From behind us, Roy called out again, "You're still not talking!"
Fine. Roy wanted us to talk? I had the perfect topic. I looked to Brody and said, "You never paid up, you know."
"For what?"
"Yesterday morning, with the hoses – you promised to tell me why it was such a big secret."
"It wasn't that big of a secret," he said. "You knew, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but I didn't know why you were hiding it from the others."
"Sure you did."
I had a theory. And it was good one, too. Still, his confidence grated. Grudgingly, I said, "Alright. If I had to guess, I'd say it was because you didn't want to get scolded for ruining the 'before' shot – you know, like a flooded hallway or water seeping down the stairs."
"I don't get 'scolded,'" he said. "I get grief. And I wasn't in the mood."
I knew the feeling. Not too long ago, I'd gotten plenty of grief for simply mowing the lawn. Still I had to point out the obvious. "Oh, come on. You'd never get the kind of grief I got."
"Got that right."
I almost laughed. "So you're not even bothering to deny it?"
"No. Why would I?"
"I don't know," I said. "But if you're not afraid of getting scolded, why keep it a secret?"
"Because," he said, "there'll be a hundred more battles before the project's done. Why fight one I don't have to?"
"But the whole thing's ridiculous," I said. "I mean, anyone could see that you did the smart thing in preventing further damage." The pronouncement had barely left my lips when I realized something totally dreadful.
I'd just complimented him.
Damn it.
I picked up the pace, even as I gave him a secret sideways glance. From the look on his face, he felt the compliment just as much I did – except he didn't look nearly as horrified.
Quickly, I added, "But you're still a coward for not owning up to it."
Abruptly, he stopped moving, and so did I.
As we faced off, he said, "That's what you think?"
No. It wasn't. Not really. With a loose shrug, I mumbled, "I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
He was right. I knew Brody. And for all of his many other flaws, he was no coward.
"Alright, fine," I said. "I take it back. But I still don't get it. Why not do whatever you want and tell Waverly to shove it if she gets mad?"
He gave me a look. "You mean on camera?"
"No. Like in private."
"Where? In the house we're fixing up?" His gaze dipped briefly to my lips, and his eyes softened. In a low voice, he said, "There is no private, as you damn well know."
Something in his look made my knees go embarrassingly wobbly. Or maybe I was just mortified at the memory of Roy and his camera catching us in the attic.
Either way, I felt distinctly unsettled, even as I said, "Yeah, well, maybe you and Waverly could've discussed it across the street, away from the cameras."
"Or maybe," he said, "I could just do what needed doing and skip all the bullshit."
I started to argue, but then thought better of it. After all, the same sort of logic had driven me to mow the lawn – except unlike Brody, I'd gotten caught.
As usual.
I studied his face. "So what are you saying? You didn't want to waste the energy arguing about it?"
"The energy or the time," he said. "I've got four months to finish the house. And yeah, the show's important. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna stand by and watch the property rack up more damage – not if I can help it."
On this, we were in total agreement, and I might've told him so, except Brody wasn't done talking.
"And," he continued, giving me a hard look, "I'm sure as hell not gonna waste my time arguing with someone who doesn't know what the hell she's doing."
"Hey!" I bristled. "I know more about the house than you think."
At this, he looked almost ready to smile. "I wasn't talking about you."
"Oh." I cleared my throat. "So, I'm guessing you mean Waverly?"
Brody nodded. "She's no construction expert."
No kidding. "So why is she the producer?" I asked. "I mean, it seems an odd choice, doesn't
it?"
"Not if you know who she is."
I wasn't following. "Sooooo…Who is she?"
"Landon's Tarrington's niece."
My jaw practically hit the sand. "Really?"
"Really."
"But the other day, they didn't act like they were related."
"Right. Because in Waverly's mind, she got the gig on her own."
"But she didn't?"
Brody's eyebrows lifted. "What do you think?"
The answer to this was so obvious, it didn't require an answer. "But if she's his niece, why did he hire me? I mean, even then, it was pretty obvious that Waverly didn't want me around."
"My guess?" Brody said. "He wants fireworks."
"Why?"
"Because it's good for the ratings."
Hearing this, I almost cringed. Apparently, just as I'd feared, I was the new Miss LaRue – someone who'd bring more drama than anything useful. With renewed concern, I asked, "What kind of fireworks?"
With Miss LaRue, the fireworks had ranged from mild disagreements to full-blown hissy-fits. I wasn't the hissy-fit type, but even I had to admit that my relationship with Brody promised enough friction to rub everyone raw.
Brody shrugged. "I guess that's up to you, isn’t it?"
"So you're saying they want us to argue?" It made sense in a way, considering that we'd been arguing on the front lawn just before Landon had offered me the job.
Brody looked at me for a long, penetrating moment before saying, "Arguments. Or worse."
I frowned. "What could be worse than arguments?" But then, I froze. "Oh. That."
Slowly, Brody looked around, as if taking in the beauty around us – the endless water, the blue sky streaked with the orange remnants of sunrise, the sand at our feet, and the waves lapping at the shore. With a humorless laugh, he said, "Why do you think we're out here?"
I saw what he meant. "So you think they're building a narrative or something?"
"A narrative. A story. Call it what you want. Maybe they're throwing us together to see what happens."
I could think of plenty of things that could happen. None of them were good, at least not long-term. I told him, "But nothing's going to happen."
Brody stiffened. "Right."
And yet, the thought of one certain something happening was far too appealing for my liking. And, in spite of all my good intentions, I couldn’t help but wonder what would it be like to clash with Brody in the naked sense.
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