Lost in La La Land(53)

“Not the same as you.” I shook my head. “I think I love the idea of him. The loyalty and lengths he would go to be with the woman he loved. I love that he never really smiles, he’s always grumpy, but then when he does, it lights up everything.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“And I love the way he loved you.” I hated the words but it was the truth. “He was devoted to you all those years, even now he fights it. The smallest of words from you, encouraging his affections, would end my relationship with him. He would choose you and he doesn't even know it.” My eyes felt heavy as I glanced down. “Winning his heart that way, knowing it isn’t all mine, doesn't seem right.” I got up before she could reply.

I hurried up the stairs to my room and stared at myself in the mirror.

I was never going to get lost here to the extent Lana did. I would always see the strings on the puppets.

Being the creator changed things for me that Lana didn't even notice.

I could have walked from the story, leaving it all behind, but I didn't dare. I needed to see for myself that they got the ending they deserved.

All of them.





Chapter Twenty-Four


I moved the chairs along the house, creating a few more sitting areas around the two new fire pits I’d bought. They had pieces of glass surrounding the flames, designed to resemble sea glass, that would heat up and help create an atmosphere. It was strange but I had never had an outdoor fire before. I’d been to fires, the old-fashioned kind where people sat around burning wood. But that was a long time ago, before the burning of wood was banned.

It was even stranger that I was moving furniture. I’d found it soothing to rearrange it all, moving it to suit me more.

Lana spent ten hours a day in the machines again and Gilda watched her.

“We’re all done, Em.” Mike came out onto the deck, nodding his head. “I see you got the bug.”

“What?”

“Rearranging the furniture. It’s a female thing. Men don't do this.”

“Really?” I cocked an eyebrow.

“Swear to God, not a single man I know who isn’t a designer, does this.” He chuckled and I had the impression it was at me and not with me as he folded his thick arms across his broad chest. His tee shirt, this one also stained and holey like the last one, stretched with him. “You wanna see the basement?”

“Not really.” I grimaced.

He laughed again. “You’re coming to see it.” He grabbed my hand, holding it in his and pulling me through the large doors. “All that hard work and you’re gonna scrimp on seeing it? I don't think so.” He dragged me to the huge staircase descending into what I always avoided.

It was the worst part of the house. Dank and wet and infested. I wished he could have just sealed it up and made it so no one ever had to go down there, but he had refused and called it usable space.

My hand in his felt nice until we made it halfway down and then the grip tightened. Half afraid of what I would see and half stunned by what I was seeing, I paused on the stairs. “Holy shit.”

“Right?” He gave me that smile, that one that sent my heart fluttering off like a butterfly.

“What the fuck, Mike?” I never really cussed, but if ever there was a moment to cuss, this was it. I ripped my hand from his and covered my eyes and shouted, “I am dreaming, right?” I rubbed my eyes and opened them, earning a smug look from him.

“Nope.” He bit his lip and I swooned, over him and my basement.

“How is this possible, Mike? Is the staircase a wormhole to a different house?”

“Come on, crazy.” He grabbed my hand again and pulled me down the remaining stairs. “We used the same wood as upstairs on the stairs but the floor is actually treated concrete with the radiant heat under it again. It’s stamped and made shiny so it looks like tile but it’s more durable. The walls had to be completely replaced, it’s why it took us two weeks longer down here. We have new foundation walls in a few places; patches had to happen. It was rough. You had a stream going through here and had to redirect the water and add weeping tiles and a whole new protection system. This is a rec room, obviously.” He held a hand out to the beautiful room. “The windows needed new wells dug, so we did that and actually made the windows bigger so more light gets in. And we cleared all the shrubs away so there’s nothing in front of them, just sky. Each window well has its own drainage now too.” He nodded, satisfied with himself.

My stomach was a mess, fluttering mess. I couldn't believe the changes in the room. It had large windows that looked out at the sky and window wells that were clean and steel, glistening.

The ten-foot-high ceiling was flat and crisp white with pot lights spattered everywhere.

The walls were also crisp white and perfectly flat. No more exposed wood and rotten pieces of wall. No more rodents and disturbing messes.

The house was pristine.

“This doesn't even look like a basement,” I muttered, imagining seating areas and a reading area and rugs with plush underlay and maybe even some plants. It was light and beautiful.

“And this way, please. The tour has to keep on schedule.” He gripped my hand and pulled me to the left. A large cedar door greeted us. He opened it, blasting me with heat, revealing a giant cedar sauna with two huge rows of benches and a proper stove. The walls and ceiling were all cedar, not the same pale stain as upstairs in the library but dark and comforting.