He Texted the Wrong Chat, So I Moved In With Her Husband novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Lawn

Casey piles Dillon's closet on the lawn; Dillon shows a recorded deed that makes him half-owner and promises movers Monday, and Eli finds a Denver flight for Dillon and Lydia booked on Casey's points.

By eight the next morning, Dillon's whole closet was on my front lawn.

I had started at midnight. Suits, sneakers, a golf bag he had never once used for golf.

The neighbor across the street stood at her mailbox in her robe and did not pretend to get her mail.

"Morning, Casey," she called.

"Morning," I said, and dropped a lamp on the pile.

A pickup truck turned onto our street much too fast.

It stopped with two wheels on the curb, and my brother Eli climbed out. He is six foot three, with a red beard and a plumber's jacket.

He took in the lawn, the suits, and my face.

"I came as soon as I got your text," he said. "I brought a truck, a crowbar, and a box of donuts. Which one do you need?"

"Donuts first," I said.

He handed me the box and looked at the golf bag.

"Is that a nine iron?"

"It's anything you want it to be."

"Great," Eli said. "I'll keep it in the truck for emotional support."

Dillon's car pulled up behind the truck.

He got out in a pressed shirt, with the dimple on and a coffee in each hand.

He walked up the path as if he had already won.

"Case," he said. "Can we talk inside?"

"No."

"You're making a scene."

"I've made one already," I said. "This is the sequel."

Eli stepped forward. Dillon stopped three feet away from him, still holding both coffees.

"Let's keep this civil," Dillon said. "I know you're hurt. What you read last night was a joke between friends."

"A joke where you say she said yes," I said.

"I said it to Lyd because she helped me plan the proposal."

"She held the camera. You didn't need her to hear it twice."

He sighed and shook his head at me.

Then he reached into his shirt pocket and unfolded a sheet of paper.

"Here's the part I really came to say. I don't want to fight you. But I have to be straight with you."

He held it out. I did not take it.

Eli took it instead and read it over his shoulder.

"It's a deed," Eli said slowly. "It's a recorded deed. It says Casey Delaney and Dillon Harkness, joint owners, with a notary stamp."

"That's what you signed Thursday," Dillon said to me. "Half this house is mine. I'm not leaving it."

"You lied to me at that bank," I said.

"I never said what the forms were. I said they were for the wedding. This is for the wedding."

"There is no wedding."

"Then call it a gift to me," Dillon said, and smiled. "If you want it back, you'd have to buy me out."

Behind me, the neighbor said, "Oh, honey."

Eli folded the deed in half and held it up.

"Casey. Do you want me to eat this?"

"It's a copy," Dillon said. "I have six."

I looked at my grandmother's front door.

She had painted it green herself, the year before she died. I had sat on those steps with a juice box when I was five.

"Put your coffees down and get off my grass," I said.

"It isn't only your grass anymore."

A little white car rounded the corner and parked behind his.

Lydia got out holding a big covered pot.

She wore jeans, no makeup, and a sad little frown.

"Case," she said, already crying. "I couldn't sleep. I made you soup."

"Soup," Eli said flatly.

"Chicken and rice. Your grandmother's recipe." Lydia held the pot out with both hands. "I think you're in shock. You were so upset last night, and everyone could see it. Dillon told me everything is just a misunderstanding. Please let me help."

She did not look at Dillon once.

I noticed that, and I did not know what to do with it.

"Put the soup on the porch," I said.

"Case."

"On the porch, Lydia."

She set the pot on the top step. The thin gold band on her right hand caught the sun.

"I'll be at my place if you need me," she said softly. "I'm always at my place."

She walked back to her car.

Dillon got into his own, and he took his time about it. His window came down.

"Monday," he said. "My mother and I are bringing movers. If you want to sell, we can talk. If you don't, I live here."

He pulled away.

Eli stood there with the donut box in one hand and Dillon's golf bag in the other.

"I'm going to kill him slowly," he said.

"Not on the lawn," I said. "The neighbors."

"I'm going to kill him in a way the neighbors enjoy."

He tipped the golf bag onto the pile. A phone charger, three protein bars, and a folded sheet of paper slid out of the side pocket.

Eli picked up the paper, read it, and went quiet.

"Case. Look at this."

It was an airline confirmation.

Two seats to Denver, Thursday morning, three nights.

Passengers: D. Harkness and L. Weatherly.

Paid for with rewards points.

I knew the account number. I had given it to Dillon for our honeymoon.

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