Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Whoa! Easy there. Are you okay?”
I gingerly slide my feet closer together. It’s what I imagine ice-skating is like if you’re bad at it. “Yes. I’m great. Just stretching. It’s been a long drive.” Standing upright, I brush the snow off my hands.
A sandy blond with a thick mustache gives me a winning grin. “You must be Jaymes.”
I accept his proffered hand. “Jamie.”
“I’m Will. And I apologize. I meant to throw down a little ice melt.”
“It’s fine. I need better boots. I opted for warmth, not traction. Both would be good.”
Will chuckles. “Traction’s good. What can I get for you?”
“I just have a suitcase, my skateboard”—I open the back of my Jeep and frown—“and a box.”
“Got it.” He hauls my suitcase and box toward the house. “You just focus on staying vertical.”
“Thank you.” I follow with cautious steps and my skateboard hugged to my chest.
A faint piney scent, maybe a furniture polish, greets me when I step inside, wiping my boots on the blue-and-metal-gray braided rug. On my left, a half-dozen cast-iron hooks hold coats, hats, and scarves. Stairs covered in worn beige carpet make a steep incline to the second floor.
“Leave your boots on,” Will instructs me, nodding toward the stairs. “There are two bathrooms upstairs. You’ll share the one with the blue shower curtain.” The narrow strip of wood flooring creaks under his boots while he leads me to the sliding glass door at the back of the house.
“With you?”
“No, with Maren. You don’t want to share the other with Fitz and me. The toilet seat will always be up, and we don’t clean it as often as we should.”
We pass the living room on the right. There’s not much wiggle room around the oversize brown leather sofa and matching recliner facing the bone-colored wall behind a TV—a buck’s head on one side and a collage of black-framed photos on the other. A repurposed tree trunk on casters serves as a rugged coffee table atop the very worn beige carpet.
The mahogany blinds covering the bay window could use a dusting, but everything’s tidy and welcoming, including the open kitchen between the living room and the back door.
Will opens the sliding door to the covered deck.
“Uh . . . who are Maren and Fitz?” I ask as he nods to the left at the laundry room before stepping outside.
“My other roommates.” Will treads through nearly a foot of icy snow.
I skip and jump to land my feet in his boot tracks.
He stops at a red shed in the corner of the yard, nestled between two groupings of evergreens sagging from the heavy blanket of snow. “It’s my house, but they rent rooms as well.”
“What are we—” My question dies the second Will opens the door to the shed. I take a hesitant step inside, where there’s a daybed with a white-and-blue checked comforter, floral decorative pillows, a light-blue velvet chair, and a weathered white dresser with a mirror.
Leaving my boots on the shaggy gray rug, I step onto the navy-painted hard-surface floor that’s curiously warm. A row of plants sits on a window ledge surrounded by white shiplap walls. It’s a lovely room, just like in the photos.
However, that it’s in a shed in the backyard wasn’t in the photos or the description. The listing said it was a four-bedroom, two-bathroom house with a shared living room, kitchen, and laundry.
“The feminine decor is all Maren’s taste. But since you’re a girl, I’m sure you won’t mind it.” Will deposits my suitcase and box on the floor. “Here’s a key to the house.” He hands me a fire hydrant key chain with a dangling silver key.
I glance over my shoulder at the house.
“Everything good?”
I turn back toward him. “I, uh . . .” I set my skateboard on the floor and toss my purse on the bed before taking the key from him.
“Shit. You thought it was in the house?”
“Kinda, sorta . . . yeah.”
With a sigh, he scrubs his face. “Maren was right. I thought the ‘private room’ made it clear. Is this going to be a problem?”
“Not per se.” I offer Will an earnest smile. “I had a picture in mind, a room in a house. It will take a bit to adjust for the discrepancy between reality and my expectations.” My incessant nodding gains momentum as I adapt in real time. “As long as I drink nothing after eight p.m., I should be good. Fine. Yep. No problem.”
“Cool. Well, the floor’s heated, and the walls are well insulated. You shouldn’t need anything else, but feel free to buy an extra blanket. Things around here are laid back. Spend as much time in the house as you want. We cleared a shelf in the fridge for you, and you have a kitchen cabinet.”
“Thank you.” I turn in a slow circle while finger combing my staticky rat’s nest of hair.