“It’s not much,” Eric noted.
“That it isn’t,” Morris agreed. “Still …”
Eric nodded. It was better than their tent in the woods. “Walls look sturdy.”
“That they do.” Morris circled the dilapidated farmhouse, hands clasped behind his back. A habit left from years of teaching and one he wasn’t particularly happy to be reminded of.
It still hurt. To have been cast aside. To not be wanted anymore.
“So, she just left it for you?” Eric tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice. He’d hoped for some juicy details ever since Morris had told him about the inheritance.
“That she did,” Morris replied.
He remembered her, of course. Juliette, the brunette. They’d been a couple, in a manner of speaking. “What’s mine is yours,” she had promised. Years ago.
Then they’d parted.
Not once had he thought it to mean anything beyond what she’d shared with him then.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge