More Than She Expected

“That’s your grandmother’s?”

“Yep. She sold her house a few months ago and moved to Sunridge—”

“The retirement community over by the outlet mall?”

“The very one. You ever been there?” When he shook his head, she chuckled. “I swear, if the age limit wasn’t fifty-five, I’d be tempted to move in. Gran says it’s to prepare everyone for heaven, since it’s highly doubtful it could be much better than Sunridge. Anyway...so that’s when I bought the house.”

“Wait—you’d been living with your grandmother all that time?”

“Oh, I was away for a few years, during college, and then after, when I lived in the city. Then I moved back,” she said without a trace of shame in her voice. “One, because I couldn’t stand the thought of her being alone as she got older, and, two, because staying there let me sock away a nice chunk of change for my down payment. Between that and the low interest rate I got on my mortgage, my payments are like nothing.”

“But wasn’t that a little hard on, um, your personal life?” At her silence, he sighed. “And I just stepped way over the line, didn’t I?”

Another light laugh preceded, “That’s assuming I have one.”

“A line? Or a personal life?”

“Either. Both. Although Gran always made it clear my life was my own. Well, within reason, of course. And not until I’d reached what she called the ‘age of reason.’ But she always encouraged me to make my own choices, to do what feels right for me, without worrying about what anyone else thinks of those choices. So it was my choice to move back to Jersey, to stay with Gran as long as she wanted me around.”

“Then she moved out on you.”

“Pretty much. Said I was cramping her style. But we still see each other at least once a week. She’s my rock,” she said softly, then smiled. “Even if she does drive me nuts on a regular basis. And it sure beats talking to myself all the time.”

“You don’t date? Go out?” She gave him another look, her mouth twitching at the corners. “Hey. You’re the one who said there’s no line. So I’m curious why you’re always home. Since you seem really nice,” he pushed on. Because he was an idiot, for one thing, and it wasn’t like he ever intended to make a move on the woman, for another. “And you’re okay looking—”

She laughed again. “So much for thinking you were one of those charmer types.”

“And you’ve got a really nice laugh—”

“Dude. Awesome last-minute save.”

“Not to mention a pretty decent sense of humor.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused. “You think I’m a charmer?”

“I’ve seen you with your lady friends. From time to time. So, yeah. You definitely know how to work it.”

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“Says the man who wonders why I’m always home.”

“Touché.” They turned back down their street. Sensing they were almost home, Boomer plopped his drooly chin on Tyler’s shoulder, whining softly. “Still. You make it sound like your grandmother’s the only person you ever see. Which—no offence to your grandmother, I’m sure she’s a great lady—but—”

“I like being alone,” Laurel said quietly. “Not all the time, no, but...alone is my safe place. Really. Besides which, I’m a writer. I don’t go out much because I work from home. And my girlfriends—from school, from when I worked in the city—they’ve all moved on. Or moved away. They got married, started families... I mean, sure, we all meant to keep in touch, but then everyone got busy, and...” As they pulled into Tyler’s driveway, she shrugged. “That’s life, right?”

Not sure what to say to that, Tyler mumbled a noncommittal “I guess,” then got out of the car, herding the dog back inside the house and quickly shutting the door. Much offended howling ensued.

“Puppy’s not happy?” Laurel said when he returned.

“What was your first clue?” he said, backing out of the driveway again. “And he usually goes with me wherever, but I don’t know if I can take him in with us at the brickyard, and I don’t like leaving him in the truck.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “So I take it you’ve known Starla for a while?”

“Jeez, lady—signal before you turn, okay?”

“Sorry, got tired of talking about myself. Another hazard of living alone, you forget the finer points of human interaction. And being a novelist, curiosity is my default mode. Relationships fascinate me. People fascinate me.”

“You think I’m fascinating?”

“I was talking about Starla?”

“Oh. Right.”

“I’d love to know her history. What, or who, made her who she is today. It’s like...her past shimmers through her. Don’t you think?”

He had to laugh, even though the conversation was making his chest ache. “You got this from like five seconds?”

“Well, it does. And anyway, I pretty much think that about everyone I meet. I love people.”

“Just not being around them?”

Now she laughed. “Guess that does sound a little weird, huh? But as I said, she reminds me a little of my mother. That whole free spirit thing she’s got going on. Love it. Especially since I’m so not a free spirit.”

“Judging from this conversation? Don’t underestimate yourself. And didn’t you say you live life exactly the way you want to? How much freer could you be?”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t like structure. Or order. I’m a bit of a neat freak, actually. In fact, sometimes I think that’s why I like living by myself, because I’m sure I’d drive someone else nuts.” She wrinkled her nose. “God knows I did Gran.”

An image flashed through Tyler’s head, of his own house. A neat freak, he wasn’t. “So I’m guessing you’re not a risk taker?”

He’d only meant to tease, to follow the lead Laurel had given him. So her stillness threw him, made him glance over at her. “Not generally, no,” she said quietly, then offered him a slight smile. Facing front again, she nodded toward the brickyard’s large sign about a half block away. “Is this it?”

“Uh...yeah.”

Tyler pulled the pickup into the parking lot, inexplicably annoyed that Laurel didn’t wait for him to come around and open the door for her. Even though there was no reason for her to wait. Or for him to play the chivalry card.

Same as there’d been no real reason for him to sidestep her completely innocent query about Starla. Other than habit. And self-protection. Which he supposed was the habit. He’d just never been keen on talking about stuff he hadn’t worked through himself. Especially with strangers. He did wonder, however, as he grabbed the glass door to the showroom before Laurel could, whether she realized he’d dodged her question.

And why, even if she did, that should bother him.

* * *

The block yard blew Laurel’s mind.

Mountains of the things, in a staggering number of colors, shapes and sizes, stretched before her like some ancient religious site. Oh, sure, she and Tyler had settled on brown, rather than prison gray, but what shade of brown? Light, dark, reddish, taupish...?

She jumped, knocking into Tyler when a forklift beep-beeped right behind her, then rumbled past them across the packed dirt field. He caught her long enough to steady her, to slightly rattle her...to remind her of their conversation in the truck coming over. The thrust and parry of it, the gentle, comfortable teasing—which she’d never experienced with any guy, ever—interspersed with the occasional avoidance. As in, Tyler’s—