A One-Time Thing

1. Rowan

CHAPTER 1

ROWAN

T here was a possibility between the job transfer, the cross country move with a surly almost-teenager, and a house that I’d bought sight unseen that I’d bitten off more than I could chew.

Was the opportunity to move and give us a forever home too good to pass up?

Yes.

Was Fisher pissed at me?

Also yes.

I’d tried to convince him that the move wouldn’t suck, that it was too much money to pass up. College fund type money. Buying a new house type money. It wasn’t a great house, but it would be ours. After years of renting, I’d almost given up on the idea of ever owning my own home. But a promotion, a bonus, and a moving allowance later, one of my dreams for us had finally come true.

The town we were moving to was on the outskirts of a place called Sweetwater, and though most of my work was able to be done remotely, the promotion would require me to shift into the office. I wasn’t worried about the change because working in person was a lot easier now that Fisher was twelve and more than capable of looking after himself.

“We’re almost there.” I’d memorized the exact route I had to take into town and through to our neighborhood. The house was a small two-story floorplan with four bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms, and an unkempt yard in the back. The outside was in desperate need of a coat of paint and the inside wasn’t much better, but I figured I could do most of the cosmetic stuff myself and save some money.

Fisher had been slumped in the passenger seat with his earbuds firmly planted in his ears all morning. All the better to ignore me with. I’d figured that Fisher would be okay with the move. The kids back home had been cruel to him all through school. First about his red hair, and then some of the kids realized that he didn’t have a mom, and well… kids were jerks. But change could be hard on a kid, so despite his frosty attitude, I did my best to cut him some slack.

The street we were going to live on looked like it was from a movie set, with large trees on both sides and the occasional car parked against the curb. It was gorgeous, better than I’d hoped.

Maybe things would turn out okay after all.

“Fisher.” I reached across and shook his shoulder. “We’re here.”

Fisher glanced up from his phone and looked out the window. He pulled his earbuds out and sat up straighter. “Which one is ours?”

“Four-seven-four.”

He sneered. “You mean the one with the jungle out front.”

I slowed the vehicle to a crawl and eased into the cracked driveway. “It’s not that bad.” My stomach clenched. Oh, it was bad . I only hoped the inside would redeem me somewhat.

“Dad, you could lose a whole herd of goats in that grass.” Fisher unbuckled his seatbelt, but made no move to get out of the car. We’d driven ahead of the movers, packing only the essentials into the car with us. It had made for a cramped ride, but we managed.

“It needs to be mowed. I’ll call around tomorrow and see if I can get someone here to take care of it.”

My original plan had been to make Fisher do it, but one look at the overgrown mess told me that the job was too much for a singular twelve year-old. “Come on, we’ll go inside and check it out.”

Fisher hopped out of the car and looked around, scanning the neighborhood before heading toward the door.

The street was almost eerily quiet. Somewhere in the distance, a lawnmower whirred to life. A car door down the street slammed and I took my first deep breath since leaving our old home.

Fisher clomped up the steps and stood at the top. He turned back to me and cocked a half-smile. “At least I didn’t fall through the porch. But the day is young.”

I left our stuff in the car for now. Absolutely not so we could make a quick getaway. The keys had been left in a lockbox hanging on the door knob, and the realtor had emailed me the code when the sale became official. I punched it in and grabbed our keys.

The lock opened smoothly and I exhaled before looking at Fisher. “You ready?”

He gave me a bored look in return. Some days I longed for the little boy he used to be. Almost-teenage-Fisher acted like I was from another planet sometimes. Most of the time. And the move hadn’t made things easier.

The door swung open silently and I stepped inside, my lungs filled with oxygen again as I realized the house wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Yeah, it needed new paint and an area rug to cover the worn-out floor until I could get it refinished, and about a million other things, but it was ours. I stepped further into the house. Dust motes floated in the sunbeams that streamed in the windows.

“Don’t they believe in curtains?” Fisher stepped in, leaving his shoes on.

“I’ll put that on the list of things to get tomorrow.” I raked a hand through my red hair, a darker shade than Fisher’s. I told him that as he got older his vibrant red hair would probably darken. I wasn’t sure he believed me.

“Can I look at my room?” He eyed the stairs that led to the top floor.

The primary was on the main floor. It had an en suite and a walk-in closet. The guest room, which would be my office, was also on the ground floor. Two more bedrooms were upstairs and took up the whole top floor on their own. It was too much house for just the two of us, but Fisher could have one end for his bedroom, and the other room could be where his gaming systems were set up or something.

“Yeah, go on up.” I walked through the house and flipped the lights on to make sure the power company had hooked us up. The kitchen cabinets were straight out of the nineties. The sterile, white, DIY kitchen drawers had seen better days. A couple of the cabinets sat open and when I tried to close them, they slowly creeped back open.

Upstairs, I heard Fisher slowly pacing the length of the top floor before his heavy footsteps stormed back down. For the first time in weeks, I saw a real smile on Fisher’s face.

“I get the whole top floor?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Can I paint it any color I want?”

A knot of anxiety loosened at the sight of Fisher’s enthusiasm. Being twelve, it might not last long, so I’d take what I could get.

“It’s your room.” Time would tell if I came to regret those words or not. “Let’s get the car unpacked and then we can find a grocery store.”

“I have a list.” Fisher headed through the house, back toward the front door.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Fisher had taken an interest in cooking from a young age. By the time he was eight, he was cooking dinner for the two of us with only a little assistance. I insisted on doing things like draining the pasta water or taking heavy dishes out of the oven, but as he grew, so did his independence. Fisher now did most of the cooking for us. I tried to tell him that he didn’t have to, but he’d roll his eyes and ignore me.

Emptying the car took several trips. I stared at the pile of bags and boxes in the foyer and let out a sigh. This was just the beginning. Once the movers got here the next day, it would be so much worse. Fisher and I had already moved a few times in the past couple years; once because I found a nicer apartment, once more because that nicer apartment came with a landlord who didn’t understand boundaries, and once again because that landlord wanted to renovate.

And, finally, one more time, to our very own house.

It felt like a chapter of our life had officially closed and a new one had begun.

Fisher dug around in one of the boxes and pulled out a framed photo of the three of us—Fisher, myself, and his mother, Lisa. The first thing we unpacked when we got to a new place had always been the picture of the three of us.

“Can we put it in my room?” Fisher asked, clinging to the frame like it was a lifeline.

“Of course you can.” I had other pictures, and if I was honest, I didn’t need the photo as much as Fisher did. We lost the same person, but our losses were not the same. Lisa had been my best friend, my wife, the mother of my child. But losing your mom was a different kind of pain.

Fisher grabbed a bag and headed upstairs with it and the picture. I gathered the rest of his things and carried them up the stairs for him, setting them on the landing between the two bedrooms. The top floor was going to be perfect for him. All it needed was a coat of paint, some new light fixtures, and the carpet to be taken out, and it would be a great space.

“What room do you want your stuff in?”

Fisher popped out of the room to my right.

“This one.” He disappeared behind the door and I carried some of his stuff into the room. The one he’d selected had a small closet with a few hangers left behind on the rod. Rowan was going to ask if Fisher was sure, but Fisher had found a nail in the wall and had already hung his mother’s picture, claiming the space.

“You know, Dad, now that we’re not renting and we have a yard, we could get a dog.”

Reaching out, I ruffled his hair. “Try again in a few weeks once the lawn has been mowed, the walls have been painted, and we’re all settled in. We don’t even have furniture yet. Besides, you might decide you want a cat.”

“Fat chance. I want a dog. A big one.”

Fisher had wanted a dog since he could talk, but it was already difficult to be a renter, even without a dog. Adding a pet to the mix would have complicated things a million times over.

“We’ll see.”

He beamed at me, his whole face lit up like a firework. “That wasn’t a no.”

“It wasn’t a no. It was a not right now .”

“I can work with that. Come on, I want to hit the grocery store.” Fisher put his hands on me and steered me out of the room.

“Gee, who’s the adult here?”

“If we’re basing the question off of who likes grocery shopping, not you. So do as you’re told, Dad.”

Fisher and I left the rest of the things we’d unpacked all heaped up in the middle of the room and climbed back into the car.

“Do me a favor and give me directions to the nearest grocery store,” I told him as I started the car. I had a rough idea of where it was, but it would be good for Fisher to learn his way around our new town.

I backed out of the driveway and slowly started up the street.

“Wow, Dad, look at that.”

We’d just turned the corner and Fisher pointed at an old car inside of an open garage.. “What kind of car is that?”

“A classic one. I don’t know what it’s called, though.” I caught a glimpse of the neighbor, messy dark hair, tight jeans with holes in the knees, a black, skin-tight shirt, and that was enough for to make my mouth go dry. “Come on, directions, Fisher.”

“Right. I mean right as in okay, not take a right. Actually, you’ll want to go straight.”

Straight indeed.

I tried not to think about the neighbor’s ass and the way it looked in those jeans.