I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up #3)(68)

They’re teenagers in the picture, maybe seventeen or eighteen at best.

They appear to be on a yacht, arms slung casually over each other’s shoulders, huge sunglasses covering their eyes. Rian’s skin is pink from too much sun, her bikini is white, but classy and pretty, the top a high halter. Marley isn’t quite so tasteful in her bright-yellow number with tiny little triangles of fabric held together with flimsy strips of crisscrossing fabric. Branding tells me their clothes are expensive, as are their sunglasses.

The picture not only captures the teenage versions of the girls, but also the beach backdrop. In the distance, the Mission Mansion rises majestically behind them, in much better condition than it is now.

I scan the other framed photos, but they’re only of Marley and Rian together—no parents, no grandmother, no hints of family apart from each other, which makes me wonder how literally she meant it when she said they take care of each other.

I set the photo back down beside an oddly shaped bowl. It looks like a six-year-old’s pottery project and very much the same as the one she made weeks ago when I went to a class with her. I pick it up and turn it over. Rian’s name is etched into the bottom in her gentle handwriting, not child scrawl.

I put it back and continue to snoop, discovering an entire shelf of misshapen vases. I check the bottom of each one—all named and dated and belonging to Rian. That she continues to do something she doesn’t seem to get better at, even after all this time is another endearing quality.

“What’re you doing?” Rian’s high, slightly embarrassed voice startles me, and I nearly fumble the vase. Recovering, I set it back on the shelf.

“You made all of these?” I gesture to her sad-looking shelf of pottery.

“It’s relaxing.”

“How many of these do you have?”

“I don’t know. A bunch.” She moves the vase so it’s lined up with the others in all their warped glory.

“Does Marley ever go with you?”

She laughs. “No. It’s not a Marley thing.”

“Is it, like, something you do with your mom?” I’m fishing now.

Her eyes flare briefly and fill with sadness before resolve settles in. “Uh no, my mom isn’t…” The doorbell rings, startling us both. She blows out a breath and laughs nervously. “That’s Marley. I’ll be right back.”

I watch her rush down the stairs, yelling for Marley to relax when she hits the doorbell again three seconds later. I’m annoyed by the interruption. It felt like we were on the brink of a moment, and now it’s gone.

She returns a minute later with Marley in tow. The sadness in her eyes is gone, and back is the slightly guarded version of the Rian I’ve come to know over these past weeks. “We should go before the store gets too busy, right?”

“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”

She grabs her purse and we head for the stairs, but I make a mental note to find a way back to this discussion.





CHAPTER 23

HARDWARE AND OTHER NECESSARY ITEMS





RIAN


My stomach churns with anxiety and guilt as I follow Pierce around the hardware store, pushing the cart. I’d been on the verge of either telling him the truth or a half lie, and I don’t know which would be worse. He’s been so open and honest, and here I am, shrouding myself in secrets to avoid letting him in. Thankfully, Marley’s poor memory saved the day.

I try to put it out of my head and focus on my pricing mission. I would’ve done this online, but I can’t see quality in an image. Fresh paint, a kitchen upgrade, new floors, and updated bathrooms is all the house needs, plus an exterior cosmetic facelift and some minimal landscaping. We have fifty thousand dollars to work with. My goal is to get it done with ten grand to spare.

We’re currently in the paint section. Pierce picks up a five-gallon bucket of primer like it weighs a much as a Styrofoam cup. The muscles in his forearms flex, making the golf ball under his skin pop. I watch, enthralled by the flex and pull of muscle as he hoists it into the cart.

He ducks down so his face is level with mine. “’Sup?”

“Huh?” I blink and realize I’m probably sporting a very blank look. I squeeze his arm. “Just enjoying the gun show.”

He smiles, but it’s not as cocky as usual. “I can do push-ups on top of you later if you want.”

“While you’re naked?”

“Is there any other way?”

I push on his chest, not because I can’t handle the flirting or the promise of what’s to come later, but because I’m full of conflict. I want to confide in him, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I do. I’m also afraid of what it means that I want to tell him the truth, and that I almost did. I’m getting attached, which is fruitless for so many reasons.

I scan the brands of paint, anything to get out of my own head, and note an alternative to the one in the cart. “That’s twenty dollars cheaper.”

He glances at it, but reaches for another five-gallon bucket of the more expensive brand. I want to point out how he’s wasting money, but I bite my tongue. He drives a Tesla and his second vehicle is a truck. A big truck with a push-button start and chrome everything. He’s not worried about money. He’s seen where I live now and is aware that we’re definitely not even close to the same pay grade—I’m sure he’s known that since he saw my Buick, but it still makes it more real. All of this feels more real than I want it to.