Page 15 of Mutual Discord

We spent several minutes discussing the areas Alex was interested in exploring before he asked, “How long have you lived in Tempe?”

“Since I moved from Tucson after college nine years ago.” I stared down into my coffee. “I bought my house four years ago.”

“Oh,” he said, his dark eyes growing large, “I didn’t know you were a homeowner.”

I shrugged. “I was lucky to buy before the housing market soared to ridiculous heights. And my house isn’t a lot. Just a thirteen-hundred-square-foot bungalow with a lot of charm.”

“Does charm mean historical features or charm as in ‘these crooked walls and creaky floors are charming’?”

“Umm, maybe the latter.” When Alex chuckled, I clarified. “I mean, it does have historical features, like an old wood-burning fireplace, gorgeous Spanish tiles, and the cutest front porch just big enough for a bistro table and chairs.”

“But?” Alex smirked. “I can feel you holding on to a but.”

“But,” I said, drawing out the u sound, “it also needed a new roof, and I had to completely renovate the kitchen to bring it into the twenty-first century. And don’t even get me started on the nightmare the heating and cooling system has been.”

Alex considered me, the corner of his mouth tipped up. “So why did you choose that house? Was it all you could afford? That doesn’t seem true to what I know of you, though.”

He was right. I hadn’t purchased my house because it was in my price range. Of course that was part of the reason, but not the primary reason.

“I bought it because it felt like a house I could grow with. A house with a history I wanted to honor, and not just four walls I wanted to rebuild.” I stared down at the concha in my hands. The one I had ripped pieces from. With my tongue pressed to the back of my teeth, I tried to fit the remaining pieces back together. “So much of Arizona is new compared to other places, and yet it has a long, rich history. It’s more than cacti, golf courses, and stucco cookie-cutter homes. And there’s nothing wrong with stucco cookie-cutter homes. But I had an opportunity to own something that has provided refuge and shelter to families before me. Their laughter, their sadness, and their happiness is embedded in its old bricks, and I wanted to add my experiences to them.”

We were silent for a spell, and I cringed internally. Alex had asked a simple question, and in turn I had delivered a whole diatribe he probably hadn’t expected. But just as with our interactions online, I found it hard not to be honest with him. God, I just hoped it wasn’t too much. I wasn’t too much.

“That’s what I want,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I want more than a house I come home to at the end of the day. A place where I hang a picture on the wall and call it home. I want to walk through the front door and immediately feel the stress leach from my body. A place that’s inviting and cozy and full of history, even if it’s just the history I make there myself.”

My throat worked on a swallow, but when I spoke, my words were filled with a lightness I did not feel. “Well, make sure you let your Realtor know that.”

I looked away when Alex grinned, his dimple flashing.

“So, Rosalind Franklin.”

Glancing back at him, I raised a brow at the change of topic.

“Did you still want to do our LIVE?” he asked.

“Oh.” I frowned, blinking rapidly. I glanced quickly about the panadería while my mind whirled. Returning my gaze to his, I raised a palm. “No, not really.”

Alex chuckled. “That’s fair. Your followers forced the idea on you anyway. Plus, things have changed, and your online life has suddenly collided with your real life.”

“Exactly! I had good reason for my panic attack the other night. What are the odds, though, that we would both know Caitlin?” A new thought occurred to me and I gasped. “Did you tell her that we know each other? Or know a version of each other?”

He shook his head. “I figured if you wanted her to know, you would have told her yourself.” His brows pulled low. “Why didn’t you tell her, Sofia?”

A long exhale whooshed from my lungs, and I shifted in my chair. “I haven’t told anyone about the Matildas.”

“No one?” When I pressed my lips together, he frowned. “Why not?”

That was hard to explain. And while it was easy to chat with Alex, I wasn’t sure I wanted to reveal this to him. Was it fair to explain my thoughts about the topic to a near stranger when I hadn’t even explained them to my best friend?

Toying with the pieces of pastry, I lifted a shoulder. “Caitlin has her own brand…and you know how busy she is. And I don’t want her to feel like she has to give me tips to grow my account. I don’t want her to feel obligated to share or promote my content just because we’re friends.”

Alex’s lips flattened. “Caitlin doesn’t strike me as someone who would offer to do those things unless she really wanted to.”

“Yes, well,” I began, scowling at the mess of crumbs before me. “Our content is nothing alike, and I don’t want her to feel compelled to do it. And frankly—” I snapped my mouth closed when I realized what I had almost shared.

He leaned across the table. “Frankly what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”