Over the next few days, she developed a pretty unhealthy connection to that sweater, sneaking away to sniff it when she should have been cleaning out drawers or packing up closets. Eventually, it was clear her heart had entered into a monogamous relationship with the sweater. Nothing else mattered.
She slept in it. Drank coffee in it. And sometimes, she touched herself in it, breathing in the fading scent of cologne that seemed to particularly cling to the left sleeve.
The house should have been emptied by now, but the closer it got to the end, the slower she worked. She’d contacted a realtor and spent the next several days, working dusk to dawn, removing the tobacco saturated carpets and refinishing the floors.
After painting some walls, she moved the unwanted furniture to the curb, but only a few pieces were picked up. She called Finn to ask if he could help her get the rest of the furniture to the landfill or Goodwill.
“Sure. I can swing by tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks.”
He showed up with Luke and the two of them had the curb cleared in under a minute. Once the truck bed was loaded, Luke waited in the cab, out of the cold.
“You doing okay?” Finn asked, wedging his hands deep in the pockets of his Carhartt jacket.
She nodded and forced a smile.
“How are things with Giovanni?”
A sharp ache formed in her chest, and she looked at the snow-covered lawn. “Things are…complicated.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing, Erin.”
“I don’t know if it’s a good thing.”
“Do you like him?”
She met his stare, a thousand words of affirmation dancing in her mouth, but not a single one came out. Why could she never be honest with Finn when he’d always been so kind and concerned about her? She wanted to talk to someone, but she couldn’t force out the words.
“It’s okay. It’s none of my business,” he finally said.
She couldn’t bear the thought of him misunderstanding her silence. “He’s amazing.”
At that, Finn grinned. “That’s great. I’m happy for you two.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him they weren’t a two. She was just a one—a lonely, single, socially awkward one.
“Thanks.” She waved a hand at the empty curb. “And thank you for doing this.”
“Any time. Call me if you need anything else.”
She watched them pull away then returned to the heat of the house, which she now kept at a toasty seventy-four degrees. The tobacco-tinged walls had been revived with bright whites and sunny shades of yellow, the lingering ghost of her father fading with every renovation.
She was coming to realize it wasn’t such a bad house. A small family could be happy there.
The thought of children actually laughing in the halls instead of screaming or running for a place to hide made her smile. The yard would look nice in the spring when the snow melted. It would be a perfect place for a swing set or a doghouse.
It was a good little house, and she wanted to find happy people to turn it into a home.
The town remained blanketed in snow but had been doused in shades of pink and red like it was every year just after her birthday. Ignoring all the nauseating Valentine cards cluttering the stores, she stocked up on groceries and grabbed a bottle of wine.
She refused to have a pathetic pity party for herself. It wasn’t like she hadn’t spent every Valentine’s Day alone since her twenties.
When she got home, she made a box of mac and cheese, set the table, and poured herself a glass of white wine. She’d picked up a box of chocolates as well, and planned on devouring them with her dinner.
Sitting down with her supper, she lifted her fork and stilled when the doorbell rang.
Her heart sprung like a pinball shooting off against her ribs and she hated how hopeful she was that it might be Giovanni at her door. But who else could it be at this hour on Valentine’s Day night?
She didn’t have pants on, but the sweater covered most of her thighs. “Who is it?” she called, sticking to the shadows.
“Candy graham.”
She smiled, rushing forward to open the door. But Giovanni’s smile disappeared the moment his gaze dropped to her bare legs.
“That’s my sweater. I’ve been looking all over for it.”
Her gaze dropped to the flowers in his hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He met her playful stare and scowled. “It’s been ten damn days. Why haven’t you called?”
She shuffled backward, out of the drafty doorway and into the warm house. “I thought you wanted space.”
“I’ve had enough fucking space. I wanted you to call. Did you even miss me?”
Her DNA was all over his sweater. Of course she missed him. “Did you miss me?”
He glared at her. “What do you think?” The crinkle of cellophane-wrapped blooms filled her arms as he shoved the flowers at her.