Page 21 of Tangled with the Tight End

“The door’s open,” Declan’s deep, resonant voice comes through the doorbell camera.

I get a slight chill. It’s definitely not the air, which is fighting to hang on to summer, but slowly becoming more and more like fall.

I’m nervous.

I’ll admit it.

Declan O’Connell. Famous football player. Known wherever he goes. A man who not only plays at the top of his game, but who comes from the O’Connell family—renowned for their developments across Tennessee, North Carolina and Alabama. He’s a man who enters every room like he owns the space—intense, powerful, driven—the exact antithesis to me.

I realize I’ve been standing still on the porch for too long when Declan’s voice comes through the speaker again. “Winona, are you coming in or staying on the porch?”

“Sorry! Yes. Coming in. Not staying out here.”

I open the double-high doors and walk into Declan’s house.

My eyes rove over the interior. So much white. The slick floors that look like they might be marble, the beveled paneling on the walls, the crown molding, the curving staircase—all white. Only the mahogany banister going up the side of the stairs breaks the pristine palette.

This place feels more like a castle or a museum than a home.

I’m Annie entering Daddy Warbucks’s house, wide-eyed and full of awe.

The soles of my tennis shoes squeak as I walk through, passing three shut doors to the left of me, and walking alongside the staircase until I reach an open archway to my right. Cass and I live with old, original hardwood. We’ve thrown a bunch of rugs down here and there. It’s hodgepodge and simple—just the way I like it.

My house feels like a barn compared to this place.

It’s not a barn, of course.

No animals.

Though, there has been a stray cat hanging around, and I do sneak food out to the side of the house so it doesn’t go hungry. It keeps coming back now. Cass says not to name it. Once you name it, you own it. I think there’s more to ownership than naming something, but I didn’t argue with her. And I’ve kept the name to myself. Sir Walter McMeowson. It suits him. He seems like an old man who could command a boardroom before he fell on hard times. And his tabby markings look a little like he’s wearing a suit and bow tie.

I come to a stop just before entering the room, standing still and out of Declan’s line of sight.

Three deep breaths. One. Two. Three.

There, I’m okay. It’s just a house. And Declan’s just a patient.

“Are you out there?” he asks.

I jump in a startle and squeak out, “Yes!”

My face flushes and I turn the corner, straightening my spine and facing him.

Declan is on the couch, his leg elevated on some therapy pillows, his dark brows drawn in—all sorts of things are scattered around him—drink cups, pill bottles, remotes, his phone.

“So, wow …” I start in. And then I can’t stop. “Two gates. That’s a lot. Plus the private gate at the end of your driveway. I always wondered what the gates were for. Especially since you could crawl under them if you really wanted to. Not that I want to. I don’t like crawling. I’m more of a walker, myself. Upright. Two feet. Not here, of course. I drove here. In my car. Right through the two gates. Well, three to be exact.” I pause, sucking in a breath. But my brain just keeps feeding my mouth with words. “Not through the actual gates. They opened. I didn’t hit them. And this house. It’s big. A lot of house for a family with three kids. Of course, your dad likes big things. But they’re not here now—your parents.” I look around. “Are they?”

Declan stares at me. The dip of his brows has lessened. His eyes are slightly narrowed, but there’s a twitch in the left side of his lips as if he’s trying not to laugh. Did I almost make him laugh? I’m mortified.

“I’ll just …” I shake my head. “Can we have a do-over?”

He tilts his head just the slightest, focusing on me more intensely. Then he simply says, “Suit yourself.”

I back out of the room and consider making a run for it. I could leave. The home health agency has other nurses. I’m sure they’d all love to work here. Declan wouldn’t have to see me again. And, more importantly, I wouldn’t have to face him after that humiliating word volcano.

I take another three long breaths.

No.