“You always said you were going to fix it up, but you haven’t …” Ken shrugs and gives me a thin-lipped smile.

He has managed to make me feel both guilty and defiant. I’m not handy, and I can’t afford to hire anyone to fix up a building that, until today, had no real use other than to store more of the things I bought that I don’t want him to know about. My fingers are clenching, and at the sting of my nails digging into my palm I force them to relax. Instead, I contort my lips into a smile.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to put it up for rent, that’s all.” I flick a glance at Christian, not daring to allow my eyes to catch his.

Ken shrugs. “I put an ad online. Had a lot of people calling about it, but I hadn’t gotten around to getting any background checks or anything. When Chris here called, told me about the two of you—”

“That we went to school together,” Christian interrupts, smooth as cream, his smile never drooping so much as a fraction.

My husband stares at me, his expression unreadable. I used to be able to tell what he was thinking just by looking at his face. When did he become stone? Or when did I stop trying to know him?

“I figured you could vouch for him,” Ken says. “Plus, he’s willing to take the place as-is.”

“Just a place to eat,” Christian says. “And sleep.”

“Have you even seen it yet? It’s really a mess. I’m sure you could find something a lot nicer.”

“I don’t need something fancy. And you’re so close to the hospital, I could walk, if I wanted to.” Christian’s smile widens. “But if you want to show it to me before I commit, I guess I could always change my mind. If it doesn’t suit.”

Ken stands. “Hon, I’ve got a pile of paperwork to do before I leave tomorrow. Could you take him over?”

Christian smiles. I do not. “Sure. Of course.”

“Great.”

Christian and Ken shake hands, pumping them up and down. Ken claps Christian on one shoulder. I’m surprised they don’t chest bump, based on the enthusiasm of this parting.

Leaving my husband behind in the kitchen, I take Christian out the sliding glass doors, across the deck and the backyard, and into the carriage house.

“Like I said, it’s a mess.” I turn on the lights in the square living room that opens into the galley kitchen. It’s furnished exactly as it was the last time he’d been here, although boxes in stacks fill most of the open space. “You really should find a much better place to live.”

Christian stands too close behind me. The heat from his body sends a shudder rippling through me. I take a couple of steps toward the kitchen to turn on the next set of lights. These are amber glass, globed lamps shaped like pineapples. They hang on chains over the small breakfast bar dividing the space. Those lamps used to hang in my grandmother’s living room but got added to the carriage house when they built it. So much history in this space … and not just the furnishings.