Connor just stares at me as I verbally vomit. “Shit,” I groan. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I just meant don’t feel bad. People have needs. I get it. I’m right there with you . . .”
I pull my car out of the hotel parking lot, silence filling the cab. Inside my head, I’m waging war with myself. Who talks about their sex life with their cousin-in-law they just met? Their dead husband’s ‘pseudo’ brother at that?
“So, you haven’t . . . ,” he pauses as if searching for his next words. “Been with anyone since before Blake passed?”
I stare straight ahead, hating myself for starting this conversation. “Three years,” I admit gruffly.
He doesn’t say anything else, which I appreciate, but hate as well. It leaves me questioning, ‘is he dropping it because he doesn’t know what to say to me because I’ve obviously overshared, or does he think I’m selfish for complaining about it, not that I was complaining.
We make it home in eleven hours, and I’m wiped. We stopped at an auto parts store on the way after Connor figured out the issue with the AC. It needed a charge, so we stopped and got it charged. Unfortunately, it only lasted about four hours until it crapped out again.
“Must be a leak in the lines. I can fix that when we get back to town,” he promised after it went out again.
So we sweated our asses off until we hit Colorado, and the temperature dropped a bit. Pulling in the driveway of the two-story Victorian I own—well, Blake and I owned it together before he passed—I park the car, and we get out.
“The garage apartment is furnished and ready for you,” I tell Connor as he stretches, and my eyes watch him in the dimming daylight. Connor shoves his hands in his pockets as he takes in the garage and the house.
“This is a nice place,” he notes.
I can’t help but think about Blake. Once upon a time, this house was meant to be the home where we’d start a family together. But I guess some things just aren’t meant to be. He loved this house. He loved it because it had a neighborhood feel but sits on two acres with an amazing mountain backdrop. Most of the land is laid out behind the footprint of the structure and leads into the mountains. The neighborhood is small, one main street with houses on each side giving us privacy on the back of the property. I may not ever have a desire to sit on my back porch in my underwear or run around in my backyard naked, but if I want to, I can. No one would ever know. Or I could before Connor took residence in the garage apartment behind my house.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I’ll give you a tour. But Blake said you needed to see something first.”
“He did?”
“Yeah,” I laugh softly remembering my late husband staring starry-eyed, imagining the day he’d present this to Connor. “He’s had this planned for a while.”
Reaching in the car through the driver’s window, I press the garage door opener that’s clipped to my visor. The garage door starts to rise and when it’s fully open, I enter and flip a switch to turn on the above head lighting. The light illuminates the walls that are lined with shelving where tools and instruments are kept in bins or are hung on pegs, and there’s a lift in the second bay, ideal for working under vehicles or changing the oil.
“Holy shit,” Connor murmurs as he steps inside. “Blake worked on cars out here?”
I snort. “Yeah right. He was a man of many talents, but mechanics was not one of them. He did this for you. So you could start working on cars and build yourself a business.”
“Are you serious?” His brows furrow as he runs a hand across the metal tool bench.