Chapter 64

It was late afternoon, and we'd spent most of the day working to set up the guest house and studio above it. The building itself had three stories. This included the garage on the lowest level, living space on the second, and the studio on the third.

In the guest house, I'd washed the sheets, made the bed, cleaned the bathroom, and polished the furniture.

Now, I was wiping down everything else, hoping to make every inch of the space feel fresh and new.

As for Joel, he'd spent most of the morning moving his supplies from the storage unit into the guest-house garage. Already, the garage was bursting with covered artwork, along with boxes and bins, all in various stages of being unpacked.

As we worked, we called up and down to each other and found plenty of reasons to invade each other's territory.

I was wiping down the baseboards in the small kitchenette when I heard Joel say, "You know I'm a guy, right?"

I looked up. He was wearing tattered jeans and a white T-shirt with grimy splotches down the front. His biceps bulged as he lifted an oak kitchen chair and moved it out of my path.

I felt myself smile. "Really?" I gave his physique a long, lingering look. "I had no idea."

He set the chair aside and smiled down at me. "If I asked you to stop, would you?"

"Why would I stop?"

"Because it's not necessary."

"Sure it is," I insisted. "You want it to feel like home, right?"

At this, he laughed.

I gave him a perplexed look. "What's so funny?"

"Baby, if you saw my house growing up?" He paused. "Well, let's just say, clean baseboards weren't our thing."

Maybe that was true, but I refused to be discouraged. "Well, then you just don't know what you were missing."

His gaze warmed. "I do now."

I smiled up at him. "See?"

"But it's not the baseboards." He flicked his head toward the narrow stairway, just a few paces away. "Now c'mon. There's something I wanna show you."

"But I'm not done," I said.

"So take a break." He reached down and tugged me to my feet. He pulled me close and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. Into my hair, he said, "Or better yet, forget the baseboards."

"But–"

"Come on." He pulled away and guided us toward the stairway and then up the stairs to the third floor.

Inside the spacious studio, I glanced around. Already, he'd carried up a few plastic bins, along with at least a dozen boxes, stacked on top of each other.

But the place was still mostly empty. I knew why. It had taken a colossal effort just to move his things from storage into the garage below. Now, he'd need to lug the whole mess up the stairs before he could truly settle in.

Inside the studio, he led me to a far corner, where he popped the top off a large, grey bin. Inside, I spotted a few bricks, along with a sturdy-looking metal case, slightly smaller than a shoe box. He pulled it out and handed it to me. 

Gripping the case with both hands, I asked, "Should I open it, or…?

When Joel nodded, I raised the lid and looked inside, only to feel my eyes widen. I looked to Joel and asked, "Is this yours?"

"Not mine," he said. "Ours."

Okay, now I was really confused. Again, I looked down. The box was filled with bundles of cash, secured with big rubber bands. I pulled out a random bundle and rifled through it. I saw mostly twenties, along with a few fives, some fifties, and a whole bunch of hundreds.

I looked to Joel. "Where'd you get this?"

"I already told you. From fighting."

"It pays that good? Seriously?"

He shrugged. "For some people."

Obviously, he was one of those people.

"And," he continued, "it helps when you bet on yourself." He gave me a crooked smile. "Assuming you win."

"So you bet on yourself?" I said. "Is that even legal?"

He moved closer. "Baby, nothing about it was legal."

I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that. Again, I looked to the money. "How much is this? Do you know?"

"The exact amount? Nah. Never counted."

"Why not?"

"You wanna count it?" he said. "Be my guest."

I did want to count it, but mostly out of curiosity. "But why did you say it's ours?"

"Because I want you to know, I wasn't lying. I can cover us." He flicked his head toward the cash. "And I can make more if we need it."

From fighting? No. I definitely didn't want that. And I knew in my heart that he didn't want that either.

"But you won't need it," I reminded him, "because you'll have the endowment money."

"No," he said. "You'll have the endowment money. Remember?"

"But that's not what we agreed on. I can't take your money."

"You're not taking it," he said. "We're sharing it. Like you're sharing this place."

Instantly, that reminded me of my aunt's admonishment. Pushing aside the money issue, I said, "Can I ask you something? You're not insulted, are you?"

"About what?"

I glanced around. "That you're living here. I mean, instead of the main house?"

Joel stiffened. "Why do you ask?"

Something about his stance made me wonder. Maybe he was insulted. "So you would rather live in the main house?"

Probably, it was a stupid question. Of course he would. Maybe the way he saw it, I was shuffling him off to the guest house because I didn't trust him or something. Or maybe he thought I was a snob. My stomach tightened. Or selfish, like I didn't want to share my own living space.

Just great. I was a paranoid, selfish snob. Maybe my aunt was right. Maybe I had insulted him.

But in front of me, Joel was shaking his head. "No. I wouldn’t."

So he wouldn’t want to live in the main house? That was a relief. Or, at least, it should've been. But for some reason, I felt compelled to ask, "Why not?"

"Does it matter?"

His evasiveness made me pause. "No. Not really." I tried to keep my tone casual. "I guess it makes sense, like if you want guests or something."

He gave me a look. "What kind of guests?"

Feeling suddenly unsure, I summoned up a smile. "You know what? Forget I asked." I forced a laugh. "Actually, that's a big relief. I mean, that you're not insulted or anything. My aunt – she was really worried about it."

Even as I talked, a funny thought occurred to me. Now, I was the one who was worried. How stupid was that?

Gently, Joel took the case from my hands and set it on a nearby stack of boxes. And then, he pulled me into his arms. He brushed his lips against my hair and said, "You want the reason?"

I couldn’t resist. I nodded against him.

"I'm not gonna shack up with you."

I froze. His embrace was sweet, but his words were sour.

Shack up. My aunt had used the exact same term, but on Joel's lips, it sounded different, like something dangerous, and not in a good way.

I was still mulling that over when Joel said, "Your aunt's full of it. You know that, right?"

I pulled back to look at him. "You're not angry I asked, are you?"

"At you?" He shook his head. "No. But your aunt, she's gotta stop pulling that shit."

I frowned. "What shit?"

Joel's voice hardened. "She doesn't even know me."

"So?"

"So she's telling you to move me in?" His gaze darkened. "I could be anyone. A fucking ax-murderer, for all she knows."

"Except you're not."

"Yeah. But she doesn't know that." He gave a slow shake of his head. "This world? It's full of monsters, who'd like nothing better than to get their claws into something as sweet as you."

At the image, I almost laughed. "But you're not a monster."

"No." His voice grew quiet. "But I could be."

"But you're not," I repeated. "And besides, my aunt will totally love you."

His mouth lifted at the corners. "I'm not sure that's a mark in her favor."

"Well, I'm sure enough for both of us." I paused. "And about the whole living-together thing?" I gave a shaky laugh. "Forget I mentioned it, okay?"

"I will. And you wanna know why?"

"Why?"

Once again, he pulled me into his arms. "Because that's not your style." His voice softened into something sweet. "And I love you for it."