Page 58 of Dream House
Still is.
But Stella is a single mom who’s also taking care of her disabled brother. And, clearly, she’s working on a Sunday.
Damn.
Her cheeks go rosy. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “Just sounds like a busy day.”
Her laughter is a little manic. “Is there any other kind?”
Before I can respond, her phone trills. She snags it out of the pocket of her dress—the dress that keeps tugging my gaze down its length to those legs.
“Nina,” she mutters, reading the screen. Concern knits her brow, and she looks back up at me. “Sorry. I need to check on something.”
“Sure.” I watch her go, coming in from working on a Sunday and heading immediately to see to a tenant. It dawns on me that even though I’ve noticed her eyes, and her legs, and her dresses, I’m seeing Stella Mouton for the first time.
Five minutes later, I’m setting my foot on the bottom stair when I hear a familiar sound.
Girl-crying.
Shit.
I should just keep right on climbing—with three sisters, I’m immune to the sound—but I don’t. Maybe it’s because I’m pretty sure the crier is Nina, my roommate with the fading black eye who seems terrified every time I glance at her. Maybe it’s because I’ve brought two women to tears in the last week, and I should try to help someonestopcrying for a change. Or maybe it’s because my guess is that if I don’t do something to help, then Stella, the woman who cooked me a breakfast I didn’t eat on a Sunday morning when she had to work, is going to be the one on cleanup duty here. All on her own.
Whatever the reason, I pause on the third step and listen.
“You’ve blocked him on your phone and on social media?” This is Stella, and it’s clear she’s talking about the asshole who gave Nina that shiner.
“Yeah.” The word is more wet breath than voice. “But he has friends who know me.”
“Hmph. If they’re sharing any of your business with him, theyaren’tyour friends.” Stella’s voice is steely. The wisdom in her words sounds an awful lot like personal experience.
My left hand might tighten on the banister.
“You’re allowed to block them too, you know.”
This comment is met by a hiccupping exhale.
“We’ve been together so long, all of my friends are his and all of his friends are mine.”
“Not me. I’m just your friend,” Stella says, her voice somehow light and strong at the same time.
I smile.
And then guilt gnaws a hole in my conscience. I’ve stood here just a minute, but it’s beginning to feel like spying and not so much like helping.
Chances are, any offer of help I give Stella will rebuff. And she’ll have to be the one to rebuff because Nina will just look at me like I’m the Big Bad Wolf, so I might as well just head back up to my room.
But I don’t. Instead I find myself stepping loudly down the bottom two stairs so they know I’m coming before I lean into the archway of Stella’s little vintage sitting room off the entryway.
Both women eye me, Nina with wet cheeks and nose, eyes full of apprehension. Stella with open annoyance.
“Apologies for eavesdropping, but is there anything I can do?”
Surprise overrides Stella’s look of irritation for a second. But I don’t miss the fact that her gaze flits down and then back up my torso. I’m still in my workout shorts and cut off shirt. It’s a little sweaty. Is she grossed out? Turned on?
Her expression reveals nothing.
