Page 134 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

I wrestled one of the duffel bags out of his hand and followed him up a flagstone path onto the front porch that housed two bikes, a surfboard, and an assortment of floral-cushioned wicker furniture left behind by the previous owner, Gabriel told me.

I heard a dog barking on the other side of the door and shrank back. I’d conveniently forgotten that I’d also be sharing a house with a chocolate Lab with big, sad eyes.

That dog didnotsound sad. He sounded hungry.

“What if your dog doesn’t like me?”

“Otis loves everyone.” Gabriel’s brows knitted together. “Why wouldn’t he like you?”

I told him about Jackie O’s poodle that always growled and bared its teeth at me for no apparent reason. “Xavi said it’s because I give off a lot of black cat energy.”

Gabriel found that hilarious.

After he got done laughing, he nodded sagely. “I can see that about you. Black cats don’t chase. Good thing Otis and I are both cat fans.”

On that note, he flung open the door and strode right in. Otis ran circles around him, his tail swishing against my shins when I ventured inside.

“Otis. Down!” Otis sat and looked up at Gabriel, waiting for his next command. “This is my friend, Cleo,” he said, making the introductions as if Otis were a human and not a canine.

Otis approached me cautiously, sniffing my feet and the hems of my pants and the ground I stood on until finally making up his mind about me. He sat at my feet and cocked his head, tail swishing like he was happy to see me.

I leaned over and stroked the top of his head and behind his ears, letting him know I came as friend not foe, which prompted him to drop to the ground and roll over, thumping his tail as I stroked his belly.

I think Otis liked me.

“See that? Big fan already,” Gabriel said then pointed to the box and the bags we’d dropped to the floor to give Otis a proper greeting. “Where do you want all this? In your room or in the art studio?”

I pointed to the bag that needed to go tomyroom, not to be confused withourroom. The rest was for my art.

“I’ll show you your room first,” he said, shouldering the bag.

Which was when I took my first good look at the timber-panelled living room. A bit on the shabby side and lived-in, but cool. So very him. So veryme.

It had a 1970s Laurel Canyon slash Malibu surf shack vibe with a low-slung burnt orange velvet sofa and leather chairs. Potted palms. A wall of driftwood shelves held his stereo, CDs and vinyls, books and burnished gold incense holders.

A green ceramic bowl that looked like a sea anemone filled with shells and sea glass sat on the coffee table. I ran my hand over the grooves and cracks in the wood table and pocketed a piece of sea glass as if I could absorb his energy and spirit just by touching his things.

“Where did you get everything for your house?” It wasn’t just a house. He’d created a home. It even smelled like him. His incense and woodsy, spicy scent.

“Estate sales. Flea markets. Yard sales. I love buying stuff that has a history.”

Textbook irony.

Upstairs, there was one bathroom and three bedrooms. The same wood-panelled walls and incense and cedar scent. The door at the opposite end of the hall was closed and I assumed it was Gabriel’s bedroom.

My room faced the front with a view of the ocean in the distance.

If we’d ever bought a beach house together, this was exactly what I would have chosen. The vintage décor and furniture. Our books and our music. An oasis away from the city for winding down after the pressure of being on the road.

Except that this wasn’t a life we shared.

My chest got tight, and I had a knot in my stomach that made it hard to breathe.

If I looked at him, I would burst into tears, so I focused on everything except for him. A stack of paperbacks with tatteredcovers and a red Anglepoise reading light on the bedside table. A milky white ceramic vase filled with wildflowers on the distressed wood dresser. A handmade quilt on the bed under a skylight that would make it feel like sleeping under the stars.

All the little touches to make me feel at home.

In the home he’d created without me.