Small Things You Promised Chapter 09
What I didn’t expect was that Cayson bought the house back, paying in full and at a price percent higher than when it had been sold.
Even the real estate agent thought he was insane.
His entire family said he had lost his mind.
“It’s too expensive. Don’t you need the money for your projects?”
Cayson simply kept his head down and focused on signing the paperwork.
“The projects can wait.”
My friend excitedly told me everything he had done.
“That’s not even the craziest part. He asked me about the brands of your things and bought the exact same slippers, carpets, and mug. He even had an air conditioner installed in the kitchen.”
An air conditioner in the kitchen?
I froze in shock.
I placed my phone facedown on the table and continued drinking my orange juice. The ice cubes had melted, and droplets of condensation clung to the sides of the glass, making it cold to hold.
The next day, the real estate agency called me.
“Ms. Kramer, regarding the house you sold earlier… Mr. Adkins is now the new owner.
“He asked a lot of questions about you while signing the transfer documents, like which direction you preferred the house to face, what complaints you had made to property management, and whether you had hesitated when signing the contract.”
The agency staff paused before adding, “He also asked me for the copies of the documents you signed. He said he wanted to study your signature.”
I nearly spat out my orange juice.
What was he trying to do? Forge my signature and buy another house?
“He asked many other questions about you as well.”
The agent’s voice grew quieter and quieter. “I think he’s probably trying to win you back.”
“I see. Thank you.”
I hung up and leaned back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
Cayson was finally taking this seriously.
For the first time in five years, his attitude had changed.
A few days later, as I passed by the flower shop in my neighborhood on my way home, the owner called out to me.
“Rae, someone bought flowers for you.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Adkins.”
I looked down at the bouquet. Blue hydrangea, white chamomile, and no baby’s breath.
Wrapped in pale blue paper, the flowers looked simple and pure.
A card was clipped to the bouquet. It read, “You don’t like baby’s breath. I remembered.”
I stared at the bouquet for a few seconds before tossing it into the trash can. Then I bought a new bouquet for myself.
Cayson kept sending me messages from different phone numbers.
Every time I blocked one, he would switch to another.
The messages said things like, “Have you eaten dinner? I made steaks. The ice orange juice is ready. The air conditioner works great, so the kitchen stays cool now. Do you want to come see it?”
My phone vibrated again. Another message from an unknown number.
“Rae, I know you don’t want to see me. Your waist had been hurting, so I bought you some pain relief patches. Don’t forget to pick them up.”
I put down my phone, changed my shoes, and went downstairs.
I opened my mailbox and saw a box of pain relief patches inside. Attached was a note that read, “Don’t lift heavy things.”
I stood there holding the patches as a breeze brushed past me, sending a chill through my body.
Unfortunately, my doctor had already prescribed medication for me.
I didn’t need anything from him.