Page 6 of Pinch of Love

Maya snuck up behind me, and the sweet smell of flowers wafted over my shoulders. I closed my eyes at the door and told myself to get it together as I punched in the code.

The lock screamed at me.

Damn, wrong number. I punched it in again, and it was wrong.

Again.

What did this woman do to me? I had to pull myself together. I knew these codes like my social security number.

She chuckled. “Here, I have it on my phone.”

“No. I got it. I just...” I finally punched in the correct numbers and pushed the door open with a grunt. “There.”

I stepped inside with most of her luggage as Maya took in the front of the house before coming inside. “This house is so adorable. You’d never know it was so spacious just from the front.”

I nodded in agreement as she took a step through the front door, pulling her suitcase behind her.

Maya gasped, and her eyes widened as she took in the home. “This is perfection. I love the wallpaper. Did it come with the house when you bought it?”

I shook my head, happy that she’d noticed the little details. With every house I picked up over the years, I’d always spent a tremendous amount of time and money rehabbing them. It was nice that it was noticed once in a while.

Maya’s small fingers ran along the banister leading upstairs before she spun around. “This is a beautiful home. I promise to take care of it while I’m here.”

I gave a quick nod. “Thanks. I appreciate it. The lake’s out back. I’ll let you be so you can wander the property alone.”

She frowned and shrugged. “I don’t mind company.”

Shit.

“Okay.” I nodded. “Let’s start here to the left. We’ve got the dining room with a fireplace in the corner. You can step through the door here, which leads into the kitchen. I took down the wall between the kitchen and the family room there, so it’s a more open concept.”

I stopped walking, realizing Maya hadn’t budged and was nowhere to be found. I retraced my steps and found her staring at a statue. It happened to be a bronze casting of my childhood dog sitting in the corner of the dining room.

She glanced at me. Her doe eyes flicked between the bronze statue and me. “That’s beautiful.”

“It’s Buster.”

She cocked her head slightly. “Buster?”

“My dead dog from when I was a kid.” That did not come out how I intended.

Her eyes widened. “You mean, that’s him? Like he’s in there? His ashes or something, or bones?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Or is it like a sarcophagus?”

Before I had a chance to answer, her eyes darted to a row of vases on the mantel in the dining room. “Are those more relatives? Grandma or Grandpa? Or like the cats of the family in those urns?”

I chuckled and shook my head when she pointed her finger at me.

Her pretty eyes narrowed on me. “Wait a second. Youcansmile.”

I shook my head. “Huh?”

“Becky mentioned that you were a little crusty,” she explained. “And I noticed your mouth never once leaves that straight line, even when you laugh. Not even one lip curl in the northern direction.”

“Crusty?” I repeated, shocked.

“She didn’t use that exact word, but she assured me that you wouldn’t be slicing me up and storing me in the basement, at least.”

Well, there’s that for a character assessment. Was that really how my friends saw me?