1. Evie
1
EVIE
“ I thought you were turning over a new leaf—you know, making better decisions.” Ian crossed his arms.
“I’m not an architect, but I really wish you had consulted us before you bought the place.” Sawyer sighed.
A slate shingle slid down the roof of the rambling gothic farmhouse to explode on the ground in front of us.
“I didn’t want him to spend all his money on a house, and it was a good deal,” I explained desperately.
“Yeah, because it’s haunted by Old Widow Weatherby.” Sawyer spit on the ground.
“What can you expect from someone who gets her dog out of a trash can?”
My friends and I gazed up at the dilapidated house.
“If some enterprising person wanted to clear out the thicket of blackberry brambles, you’d have a stunning view of the lake.” I rocked on my heels.
“Isn’t there a cemetery back there?” Ian looked alarmed.
“You could have bought a house in town.”
“The dream was a farmhouse,” I said determinedly.
“There is a lot of land.” Sawyer poked at a nearby blackberry bush. In the summer, it would be overloaded with berries. Now, in December, it was Sleeping Beauty’s protective barrier.
A few days ago, when we’d seen the house—it was the first house we’d officially looked at now that Anderson had his dishonorable discharge reversed and could qualify for a VA loan—I’d fallen in love immediately.
I’d insisted, begged, and pleaded that this be our forever home.
Had Anderson asked me if I wanted to look at other options?
Yes, but I was in love. Now I was a homeowner.
“Oh god, I’m a homeowner.” I whimpered. “Do you think it’s too late to get a refund?”
“You already signed the paperwork,” Ian reminded me.
The gravel crunched behind us as a truck pulled up, and the Wynter siblings jumped out.
Anderson gave me what felt like a perfunctory kiss.
“There it is.”
The house creaked, and the wind moaned, seeming to say, Disaster… this is a disasteeer, Evie Murphyyy…
“Hudson, you need to give Anderson a raise.” Jake slapped his brother on the back.
“You’re going to live in a dump?” Talbot made a face.
“It feels like home!” Elsa said cheerily.
“Our childhood home was in worse shape than this,” Anderson reminded them.
“Is that the one that burned down?” I asked in horror.
Oh no. I’d brought up his childhood trauma.
“It’s going to look great when it’s fixed up.” I was sweating, even though it was icy outside. “We’re going to paint it and put in a kitchen.”
“‘We’ who?” Ian asked.
“‘We, Anderson,’ it sounds like.” His brothers ribbed him.
“It’s in better shape inside.”
“Evie, your delusions know no bounds,” Ian said as we shined flashlights around the empty house. The Widow Weatherby had lived here as a recluse for the last twenty years. Her estate had cleared out the furniture, knickknacks, and other possessions.
I pulled at a piece of peeling wallpaper, which squeaked, sending Snowball barking.
“The foundation’s pretty solid,” I whispered as we creaked up the wide staircase. “New paint. Some fairy lights. It will look great. We can put the Christmas tree there. Clear the bats out of the fireplace.”
“Why don’t you just tear it down and build something like Uncle Todd’s house?” Sawyer asked as we peeked into an old bedroom. There was a painting of a clown dressed up as Santa Claus still on the wall. Presumably, the movers had refused to touch it.
“I convinced the estate to sell the house to us with an impassioned plea of how I wanted to use it for future foster kids. The widow wanted it to become a real home, not a vacation property. She loved this house.”
Anderson tapped a plaster wall with his boot. The whole thing shuddered then collapsed in a puff of dust. “She really should have taken better care of it, then.”
“He hates the house, and he hates me!” I wailed over Jingle Bell Juleps at the Twinkle Taproom.
“You really do know how to pick ’em.” Ian licked his spoon.
“It didn’t look so bad the first time we saw it!” I cried. “And I know he’s going to think I want him to renovate it all by himself.”
“That’s going to take years, Evie,” Sawyer said. “Can’t you guys hire a crew?”
“Brook Taylor wasn’t lying about the pay being mediocre.” I guzzled my drink, the alcohol not helping the panic, only making me feel even worse. “Anderson is going to resent me, then he’s going to wish he’d never met me, then I’m going to wake up one morning, and he’ll be gone. I’ll be all alone.”
“No, you won’t. Widow Weatherby’s ghost will keep you company.” Ian snickered.
“Just figure out how to renovate without putting too much on him, and you’ll be fine,” Sawyer assured me. “You could get a better-paying job—you have experience now. Then you’d qualify for a home renovation loan.”
“I’m buying a lottery ticket,” I decided.
Sawyer pinched her nose. “Not exactly what I meant.”
With the smells of dinner filling a swanky, newly renovated historic apartment a few nights later, I finished typing up a summary of a meeting with an interior design personality for Brooke. Then I took a sip of very good wine and set the stemware on a marble counter. No, I was not living out my Carrie Bradshaw dreams. I was pet sitting. Brooke Taylor was a brand-new dog mom, one who also didn’t want to cancel her girls’ ski trip.
When the doorbell rang, Snowball started barking, which set off the Pomeranian puppy, who looked like and had the brain cell count of a large cotton ball. I hid my losing scratch-off ticket in the trash can—should have just bought a cruffin—then rushed to open the door.
“You’re back!” I flung my arms around Anderson.
He smelled like the winter woods.
I melted in his arms. I didn’t want to lose him. I was going to figure out a plan for that house—one that didn’t rely on him.
“Dinner’s almost ready—chicken fried steak, mac ’n’ cheese, and greens.”
My boyfriend sat down on one of the dining room chairs, watching me as I made the gravy. He scooped the dogs up on his lap so they could cover his black clothes with dog hair. He seemed world-weary.
“Tough day on the job?”
“Just long.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck.
I handed him a beer. He wrapped his arms around my waist briefly, nuzzling my chest, and slid his hand under my apron.
“So, about the house…” he began.
After a lifetime of disappointing my loved ones, I was not a person who liked to have difficult conversations. In fact, I went out of my way to avoid them.
“Don’t even worry about the house.” Suddenly, I had a flash of genius. “I have a plan for it. We could be house flippers. We’ll fix it up then sell it for a profit.”
Anderson drew back from me. “So now you don’t want the house?” He scowled. “You just had me buy it.” He hissed when Peanut the puppy nipped him playfully.
“I just think it’s a lot of house.” I petted the wiggly puppy. “What are we even going to do with all that space? I might have gotten ahead of myself a bit, is all.”
“Uh-huh.” He stood up, taking another swig of the beer. “I’m going to take the dogs out.”
The puppy chewed on his jacket zipper. Snowball was unimpressed.
I felt like crap. Anderson was furious with me. I’d really screwed up.