Five Months Ago

On her initial visit to Hollow House, Amelia's first thought was that she would be perfectly content to never step foot there again.

On paper, it sounded endearing—built by Colton's great-great-grandparents, it was an old, five-bedroom manor situated in the countryside less than an hour out of town. But the reality of it was much bleaker. They had to drive down a half-mile-long gravel road just to get there; the grounds were completely overgrown, teeming with weeds. The nickname Hollow House could be attributed less to the fact that the bordering creek was called Hickory Hollow Creek and more so to the way that strange noises always seemed to be eerily echoing from inside the walls. She certainly couldn't imagine ever sleeping a night in there.

There was also that minor detail where the whole reason he'd inherited this house in the first place was due to his parents' rather untimely deaths six years ago. They were on a two-week vacation out in the Alaskan wilderness when their charter plane went down; he had stayed behind because he didn't want to spend his summer somewhere cold.

Understandably, he didn't like to talk about it.

Once they had actually crossed the creaky threshold, Amelia could envision how this place had been charming once upon a time. It was barely inhabitable now—a shell of a house, really—but the lower floor was spacious. Dust motes gathered on an untouched fireplace and the exteriors of the windows were grimy, but nothing seemed to have lost much of its structural integrity.

"So...you want to fix it up?" she asked reluctantly.

She didn't want to bring up the glaringly obvious fact that it would probably make more sense to let someone else do the repair work for him, make a decent penny off of selling it, and then purchase something much more practical. She had no idea what it was like to come from old money—after all, her mom was a first-grade teacher and her dad was a security guard—but tried to respect that he might feel as though this was the last thread tying him to his parents and previous generations of his family long gone.

"I was thinking we could try to tackle it in phases," he said. She bristled at his use of we and prayed he wasn't going to drag her too deep into this. "The guys and I were thinking we could turn the attic into a production studio–"

"You want to make your music out here?" she interjected. "In the middle of nowhere, forty-five minutes from your job and your apartment?" And from me.

"Well, yeah. It's getting pretty annoying to constantly have someone complaining about us making noise—out here, it's not like there are any neighbors around to get pissed off at us."

Slowly, Amelia nodded. She supposed that was fair, and if Colton's friends were going to be in and out of this place, that was all the more reason for her not to show up. The dust was making her nose itch and she was holding back a sneeze the entire time he showed her around the main two floors.

It was so much space, more than she would have known what to do with. "...What are you wanting to do with the rest of it?"

He shrugged, but it seemed slightly forced, as though he actually already had a detailed vision for every single room and just didn't want to let it on to her yet.

"Well, that's still a long way away, but once I get this place into shape, I think it'd be a good place to settle down. Have a family. It's really not that far from town and there's so much land to run around on–"

"Ah," was all that came out of Amelia's mouth. She had zoned out as soon as he said family, her mouth suddenly dry.

Of course he was thinking about a family—he'd be thirty in another year's time, so he probably didn't want to wait around forever. She should have expected something like this to come up, but she hadn't expected it so soon, and now she had no clue how to say that she wasn't even sure that she ever wanted to be a mother. Or at least that she didn't want to have to think about that decision any time in the near future.

"That...that makes sense." She swallowed a lump in her throat and changed the subject. "What's in the basement?"

Colton nodded towards the door with a small smile on his lips that told her that he was completely oblivious to her ambivalence. "C'mon, I'll show you."

The basement was nothing to write home about. It was, after all, a basement. The stairs groaned beneath their feet as they descended; the air seemed slightly damp. When he flicked the light switch upwards, the ancient bulb buzzed in complaint before reluctantly coming to life and bathing them in yellow light.

It was empty and entirely made of wood and that was really all there was to say about it, but Colton seemed to be fond of it.

"You've gotta admit it'd make a pretty good wine cellar," he remarked.

"I guess that's true, yeah."

The way the steps creaked under their feet as they returned to the main floor sounded to Amelia like a ghostly moan, and she was utterly relieved when he announced that they could go grab some dinner.

For once, Amelia was glad that it was Monday. She was already itching to talk to Natasha again even though they'd just seen each other on Saturday night.

She showed up at Nat's apartment at her usual time, just before 9. The door was usually left unlocked for Amelia in the mornings, but she had gotten into the habit of knocking once before opening it anyway to announce her presence and avoid startling Nat when she wandered into her living room.

As was warranted on any Monday morning, she was carrying two large coffees that she'd grabbed on the way over—with cream and sugar for her and just a tiny splash of cream for Nat. It felt like a bit of a peace offering after having to run out of the restaurant the other night, though she knew in actuality that only one of the two of them was holding a grudge against her and that person was herself.

The living room was vacant, so Nat must have already been in the office, also known as her spare bedroom. It had been rather empty before she befriended Amelia, housing only a futon and a small bookshelf, but they'd pooled their money to add desks and computer monitors for each of them as well as a little coffee table to go with the futon. Many power naps had been taken on that futon in the middle of a workday.

Natasha, who had been quietly humming along to some music while she sketched, pulled out her earbuds when Amelia entered.

"I love you," she said without hesitation, her blue eyes widening when she saw what Amelia had brought with her.

Judging by the mostly-full mug resting precariously close to Nat's keyboard, she had already made and then quickly abandoned a lackluster cup of Keurig coffee.

"I love you, too. Consider this an apology for Saturday night," Amelia said as she passed Nat's coffee to her.

She shook her head. "You don't need to worry about me, but thanks," she replied, then more cautiously added, "...Did everything....are you okay?"

Amelia sank onto the futon, clutching the cup that had already grown slick under her fingertips from condensation. "I don't really know." Per usual.

She brought Nat up to speed on everything that had happened since their dinner: the arguing with Colton, running into Henry at the coffee shop which led to arguing with Colton again, then kissing and pretending that they'd made up without actually having talked about it.

"It's like...in my head, I know that all of this avoidance is terrible for me. This doesn't feel like who I am, you know?" she sighed. "But whenever I get the chance to really do something about it, I always get scared and back out."

Natasha looked at her with sympathy but not pity, which Amelia appreciated. She didn't want to be pitied for a grievance that was at least partially of her own making.

"I've dealt with my fair share of toxic boys in the past," Nat admitted, choosing her words carefully, once Amelia was done speaking. "But nothing to this...extent. I wish I could give you some sort of genius advice here, but do you think it would help to talk to someone a little more...knowledgeable about messy relationships?"

Amelia wrinkled her nose. "Like my parents? I love them and all, but I'm not sure that I want to take relationship advice from people who got divorced ten years ago."

"Maybe more like....a therapist?"

Amelia stared. "A therapist," she repeated.

"Yeah. An expert on this stuff. You mentioned to me once that you used to see someone, didn't you?"

That was true—therapy had worked well for Amelia back in college. She'd been seeing a great therapist named Dr. Foster, but a few years had passed since then.

"I'm not sure she'd remember me if I tried to waltz back up and make an appointment."

"I know, I know. And I know it's expensive," Nat conceded. "And more importantly, I know that you love Colton. But..."

"But what?"

Nat hesitated. "...At this point, is the good in this relationship really outweighing the bad?"

By the time five o'clock rolled around, Amelia felt like all of her energy had been sucked out of her. A relaxed evening with Colton sounded nice if he actually chose to be pleasant with her—perhaps they could order delivery and watch a movie—but she never knew what sort of mood she was going to get him in after he'd been at work. He often came home stressed out and immensely tired, which she could hardly blame him for.

There was also the matter of her own conflicted feelings around the suggestion that Nat had offered, that she ask a professional about how Colton was treating her. It wasn't as though it was a bad recommendation in the slightest. But Amelia hated this sensation of feeling like she'd lost control of her own relationship, and to admit that out loud to someone else would make her feel even more like she'd failed. When she first met Colton, being around him had always been like taking a breath of fresh air, and it still seemed that way on occasion even now. But more often than not, it was like her lungs were filled with water and she was screaming for any oxygen at all.

She didn't expect him to be heading out their front door as she was walking up to it. He must have gotten off work early—he'd already changed back into casual clothes.

"Hey you," she said as he leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the lips. "Going somewhere?"

"The guys asked me at the last second if I could come help them with this mix we're working on," he explained.

"Oh, okay."

"That's fine with you, right?"

"Yeah, of course."

He nodded, and after mumbling something about her not needing to stay up waiting for him since he'd probably be back late, he was gone. She watched his silhouette retreat towards his car for a moment before she went inside, locking the door behind her.

So much for that relaxing evening with him that she'd envisioned. Amelia sank onto the couch and debated what to do. She could take a long bath or read a book, she supposed, but she wasn't sure that allowing herself to get lost in her thoughts was going to be healthy for her right now. Her mind had already been drifting off to Colton all day long.

She didn't know who to talk to about any of it, though. Her parents weren't always the most objective listeners out there and she knew that they liked him a lot. Dad thought he was the best thing since sliced bread, and if there were a Cult of Colton he probably would have joined it. Mom had a more reasonable amount of skepticism towards him, especially ever since Amelia announced her intentions to move in with him, but even in spite of that she still liked him plenty. In all honesty, it might have made more sense to Amelia if her mother didn't like him considering how opposed she'd been to the whole moving situation. It was as though she saw Amelia's decision to move in with him as being an irresponsible one while simultaneously choosing not to place any of the blame for it on him, as if he hadn't swayed her at all or been the one to suggest it in the first place.

They thought he was respectable; they liked that she wasn't wasting her time on boys who were "immature." In the heat of some of her angrier moments, she'd had to bite her tongue to stop herself from telling them how wrong they were about some things. They hadn't considered any of the practical ramifications of her dating an older man, like the fact that he seemed to want their relationship to move at warp speed while Amelia wished that all of it could progress much more gradually. But she was scared to bring that up to him again—the one time she did, it spiraled into him accusing her of not loving him. He interpreted it as a personal attack on his character, as an indication that she didn't want him as much as any good girlfriend should. That night was the first time he hit her.

So here she was, stuck in purgatory. Too scared to stay, too scared to leave.

Feeling lonely and like she had nowhere else to turn, Amelia did something slightly crazy. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted Henry Caruso.

Um hi, this is Amelia. I'm sorry about what happened yesterday

She was slightly surprised to see him respond almost immediately.

Henry Caruso is typing...

No I'm sorry, I hope I didn't cause some sort of problem. That was your boyfriend right? It didn't even cross my mind after Liam left that the 2 of us might have looked weird sitting together.

How dare you sit at the same table as me

Please don't apologize for that

Alright, but you shouldn't have to apologize to me either

I'm a bit of a chronic apologetic

Noted

I didn't get to hear if you'd ever want to hang out or not, but if you secretly think I'm miserably boring please speak up now

Her heart thumped in her chest as she watched the three little dots pop up that indicated he was typing. She felt like she was doing something wrong, something illicit, even though she knew she wasn't. And yet there was something thrilling about it, something that made her question why she was enjoying it as much as she was.

I don't usually waste my time on miserably boring people

In that case, I'm flattered that I have at least been promoted to marginally boring

You know that's not what I meant

I actually don't know you all that well at all, Henry Caruso

Did you just stick my name at the end for dramatic effect?

Maybe.

It took a minute or so for him to reply this time, just long enough that she thought he might have become occupied with something else. But as she started deliberating what to do now, Amelia saw him start typing again.

Did you want to talk about something? Or just like apologize for existing

Yes

No

Maybe?

I guess you were right when you said it's nice to feel like anybody is listening to you

She stared at the message she just sent, regretting it instantly. She imagined she'd probably scared him off—what kind of guy would want to listen to a random girl's problems while he had a mortifying amount of his own?

Then, quite the opposite of what she'd expected happened. Her phone started buzzing—he was calling her.

"...Hello?" she answered a bit bashfully.

"You don't feel like anyone listens to you?" Henry questioned carefully.

She didn't mean to make him feel overly concerned for her. "That's not what I said."

"But it's not what I said, either."

Amelia paused, absorbing the realization that she had, in fact, put words in his mouth. All he'd said at the coffee shop was that it helped to have people listening to you, but she'd gone and accidentally projected her own feelings onto him. It sounded a little bit like a cry for help.

But then again, wasn't that exactly what it was?

When she didn't say anything in response, he quietly asked, "Do you need some company?"

"Oh, no," she blurted on instinct, though her heart secretly leapt at the idea that someone besides Nat or her parents might want to see her. "I don't want to trouble you with–"

"I'm stopping you because I sense an apology coming." He sounded like he might be smiling. "But I'm the one who offered. And I'm not gonna be offended if you say, Henry, please stop being a creep and leave me alone."

That drew a small laugh out of her. "...Yeah, I guess I do," she finally admitted. "But, um, where's good for you?"

Right as she asked, she heard a sound on his end of the call that sounded like oil sizzling in a pan. "Wait, are you in the middle of cooking?"

"That I am," he told her. "You can come over if you need some dinner. Except now that I said that out loud I'm realizing that maybe I am actually starting to sound a little creepy, so...the floor is yours."

"Well, it depends."

She'd managed to draw some curiosity out of him. "On what?"

"How good is your cooking?"

____________________

A/N:

when he can cook>>>