Richard

“I put sheets and blankets on the couch,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “Fridge is full. Make yourself at home.”

Bart and his mother follow me in, the front door closing and anything but hospitality pouring out of my voice. Bart is more than welcome, but I’d love to put her in a hotel if I could.

He’s giving me a guilt trip, though.

“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” Stephanie informs me, plopping her purse on my counter. “I need privacy. I’m a grown woman.”

Maya trails in behind them quietly, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. Her eyes are downcast, and I don’t think she’s looked at me since last night when Bart called. I had to work today, and she took the day shift at the bar, and between her moving all of her toiletries back into her own bathroom and being…