Page 36 of Singled Out

“You and Naomi weren’t very close, right?”

“We were…different. Opposites, you could say. It’s been a few years since I talked to her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He turned his gaze out the window that looked over the driveway. “We fought about this place when our grandfather left it to us. I wanted to sell it then.”

“She didn’t,” I said with certainty. “She loved this place. The farmhouse. The land. The studio.”

“That outbuilding out back?”

It was technically a farm outbuilding, I supposed, but Naomi had made it so much more. “Have you been inside?”

Ian let out a sardonic chuckle. “No. I didn’t make it past the scotch.”

There was enough self-derision in his tone that I kept quiet, wondering for the first time if there was more to this guy than I ever expected.

“I came back to take care of business,” he said. “Drove straight here when my plane landed yesterday to take stock of what would be involved.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and rubbed his temples. “When I walked in the door…” He shook his head, his eyes closed, then swallowed. “Everything about this place is so one hundred percent my sister… Damn.” His voice cracked, and he took several seconds to speak again. “We hadn’t talked for five years. I thought I was still mad at her. Then I walked in here, and it was as if she might glide into the room at any second. The colors are her. The decor is her. I could swear it even smells like her, light and airy and sweet.”

I had the same thought every time I walked inside, even though it’d been weeks since Naomi had been here in the flesh. I could still smell her sweetness.

My caution toward this guy slipped several degrees and was replaced by sympathy. I could tell just from looking at him his sister’s death had hit him harder than he’d anticipated.

“I’m not a big drinker,” he continued. “I didn’t expect to be blindsided by her loss…” He covered his eyes, then roved his hands down his face. “I saw the scotch and got a glass to dull things a bit.”

“Did it work?”

“Not nearly enough.”

I nodded. “I tried the same kind of thing a couple of times. Vodka instead of scotch. It doesn’t matter how much you drink. When you sober up, she’s still gone.”

“Yeah,” he said on a pained exhale. “I’m sorry you walked in on that. Sorry you had to go somewhere else last night. Please tell me you didn’t sleep in your car.”

“I didn’t sleep in my car.” That would’ve been smarter, I realized now.

He drank the rest of his water, set the glass on the counter resolutely, as if he was closing the topic of last night. I needed to do the same.

“Do you know what you’re going to do with this property yet?” I asked. “A lot of people are wondering.”

“I’m going to sell it.”

Even though that wasn’t surprising, it felt like a punch to the gut.

“I’ll give you time to find a place to live,” he said, as if my reaction showed on my face. “I’ll move to a hotel.”

“It’s your house.”

“I own it, but it’s your home. Contrary to what you saw last night, I’m not a complete asshole.”

I studied him and found I believed this was more Ian Finley than the guy from last night. There was no question he was grieving his sister in addition to being hungover. Something in my gut said I could trust him on some level. Maybe if I spent more time with him, I could convince him not to sell. To keep the studio open. So many people relied on that space to escape into their art.

“Do you own a gun?” I asked.

“Do I what?” He said it with a chuckle of disbelief. “No. I don’t own a gun. Do you?”

“No. I have a lead on a place to live, but it would take a bit for it to be ready. I don’t exactly know how long yet.”

“That’s fine. I’m not unreasonable…unless I’ve had a bottle of scotch.”