Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Joey
As I navigate the winding roads to my sister’s house, my mind whirls, filled with a tangle of thoughts and a slew of unanswered questions.
How did I not know he lived next door for a few years?
Can I really survive living with someone new?
What if he hates living with me and leaves?
Why do I care if he leaves?
Am I freaking out? Yes. Am I being dramatic? Also yes. But living with another person is a big deal.
At least to me. It brings out a whole new set of vulnerabilities and insecurities.
I release a long, weary sigh. There was no mention of living with a man during my last tarot card reading. My tarot girl in Denver was definitely holding back on me.
She explicitly stated my past was the five of cups upright, which signified grief and loss.
Dead parents? Check.
Present was an upright empress, which means creativity.
Brand designer? Double check.
The final card, my future, was the upright ace of cups.
She told me it meant emotional awakening and new beginnings.
I figured it was fitting, since I experience a new emotion or five every day.
Good, bad, and ugly. And new beginnings just seemed so.
. .generic. Every day I wake up could be considered a new beginning.
The new beginning I wasn’t expecting was one that includes a quiet, broad-shouldered man who’s more than meets the eye.
Beckett is not my usual type. The strong, silent kind of guy does nothing for me.
I enjoy men who look like they’re ready to attend a three-day long music festival in the middle of nowhere.
The ones who insist we sleep in the woods, under the night sky to feel “grounded by the gravitational force of mother nature” and other nonsense that only makes sense when one has smoked too much of the good shit.
Yes, I tend to go for the guys who look like they haven’t had a shower in a day or three.
However, my hormones have done a total one-eighty. Beckett’s tousled blond hair, searching green eyes, and indrawn nature have created an undeniable magnetism. Suddenly, there’s nothing I’d rather do more than watch that man and his unusually calm demeanor unravel.
My spirit guides have thrown a curve ball, and now they’re laughing at me.
When I left the cottage, Jack followed me out. Meaning I somewhat abruptly left Beckett there alone.
Guilt washes over me, settling like a heavy weight on my chest. My parents raised me to be more thoughtful than that. Looks like I’m well on my way to being a terrible roommate. I’ve lived solo for the better part of a decade, so cohabitating with another human will be an adjustment.
My sister’s front door creaks as I drag myself inside and drop my bag to the ground.
When I force my head up, Charlie is looking at me with enough concern that it makes me concerned. It’s the most interesting feedback loop I’ve ever experienced, that’s for sure.
“Are you. . .good?” She narrows her eyes like she’s trying to decode my facial expression, then gestures for me to follow her into the kitchen.
With slumped shoulders, I trail behind her and settle onto the chair at the wooden dining room table that used to belong to my parents. The familiarity of plant cuttings in water on the surface comforts me a little.
But. . . “No. My tarot girl lied to me. I’m living with a man. My new client is insufferable. And I just want a fucking nap and maybe a snack. Did I mention I’m living with a man?”
Charlie’s eyes go wide as she eases into the chair across from me. “You’re living with a man?”
“Yep.” I sigh. “A rather attractive one, if I’m being honest.”
“You’ve had horrific experiences living with men.”
I let out an exasperated sigh and slap the table. “I know. I thought those days were over. Remember when Alec left his—”
Charlie puts her hand up to stop me. “Please don’t continue. I get it. It’s tough living with men.” She looks over at her boyfriend, who’s on the couch with both dogs, the three of them eating popcorn. “No offense, Finn,” she hollers.
Finn waves his hand, brushing off her words. “None taken. Men are gross.”
In college, I shared an apartment with a group of friends, two of whom were men. All my memories of that time consist of unwashed, food-crusted dishes, washers filled with musty clothes from football practice, and bathrooms that required a hazmat suit when cleaning.
I shudder. “I know they are. Why do they leave so many little hairs all over the place? And leave the toilet seat up?”
“Because we’re disgusting creatures.” Finn tosses a piece of popcorn to Vera, who catches it with ease. Then he tosses one to Frank. Since the dog can’t see, it smacks his head.
Frowning, I turn back to my sister. “How often does he forget his dog is blind?”
“A lot more than you think.” Charlie sighs.
“I heard that. It’s been a long day,” he mutters. “How about you go back to talking about how my species is gross rather than critiquing my dog parenting skills? Jeez.”
The two of us have to stifle giggles as we turn back to one another.
Charlie props her chin on her hand and surveys me. “This man, who is he? Didn’t Jack go with you? Why are you living with him?”
“It’s the hot nurse,” I say without an ounce of emotion.
“The hot nurse?” my sister echoes, raising a singular eyebrow.
“Who’s this hot nurse?” Finn yells from the living room.
Annoyed, I spin in my chair and glower at the lanky man on the couch. “Could you not eavesdrop?”
“Sorry! Ignore me,” he calls out, a hand in the air.
“The guy who came into your shop when I fainted, Beckett,” I tell my sister.
“The landlord double-booked the cottage. Beckett offered to find a different place, but he’s only here for a few months.
It seemed silly to kick him out. Plus, he said he works weird hours and that we won’t see each other much.
” I sigh. “It can’t be that bad, right?”
Charlie nods thoughtfully. “And Jack?”
Ducking, I twist a lock of my hair around my finger. “He was there. Ran a background check.”
“Sounds about right.” She sighs.
“Did you know the hot nurse lived in our neighborhood for a few years when we were kids? Dad and Jack helped his mom with the yardwork.”
I fight back a wince. It’s sort of embarrassing that it’s taken me thirty-one years to truly recognize how oblivious I can be.
“Really?” She sits back in her chair, her brows pinched together, the wheels in her mind turning. “Huh. I had no idea.”
It appears being oblivious is a common theme among the Thorne women. No wonder Jack texts us three times a week to confirm we’re alive.
Vera wanders into the kitchen and sits next to me, putting half her weight on my foot. I give her fluffy golden fur a couple of strokes and she groans in appreciation.
“It’ll be a new experience for me, that’s for sure.”
Charlie’s eyes soften. “If you need a place to escape to, you’re always welcome here.”
I scoff. “You’re only offering that because you pity me.”
She winces. “Guilty.” Shifting in her chair, she clears her throat. “Can we go back to the tarot card reading part? You glossed over that a little too fast.”
By the time I pull into the driveway of the cottage, the sun has dipped below the horizon. The warm, yellow light streaming from the front windows contrasts the deep green of the forest, only adding to the quaintness of the place.
Determined to not make an extra trip back outside to my van, I gather my things from the passenger seat and carefully balance them in my arms, using my chin to anchor the precarious pile.
The house is eerily silent as I use my foot to close the door behind me.
I know better than to yell out “Is anybody here?” when there could be someone hiding in a closet with a ten-inch chef’s knife and a penchant for bloodlust.
So I drop all my things by the door and slip off my shoes, readying to investigate without making a lot of sound. My skin prickles with unease, like I’m being watched, as I stealthily move through the house.
My body goes on high alert. Heart racing and adrenaline pumping through my veins, I frantically try to remember how to throw a punch.
Didn’t my dad say to keep my thumb untucked when forming a fist? Do I hit up or down to break a nose?
Meow.
I nearly jump out of my skin and let out a high-pitched scream. “What the fuck?”
Stopped in the middle of the living area, I scan the open main floor, looking for the meowing monster.
I can’t see it.
I can’t smell it.
But I can most definitely sense it.
What sounds like a herd of stampeding elephants only adds to my confusion. A few seconds later, Beckett appears on the stairs.
He rushes to me and places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Naturally, as one does, I jolt at his touch, jerking back quickly.
Eyes wide, he snatches his hand away like I’ve burned him.
Heart racing, I take him in, and. . .fuck me.
The man is wearing a black T-shirt that clings perfectly to his muscular frame and shows off the intricate lines of the tattoos that wind down his arms. His gray sweatpants fit him as if they were tailormade for his body, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses sits on his slightly crooked nose.
His black shirt is dusted with a light layer of a white powder.
Squinting, I angle in closer. Is that flour?
Or is it another more controversial type of white powder? Maybe I shouldn’t be asking so many questions. . .
Regardless, the man is alarmingly good-looking. Annoyingly so. He’s also kind and excellent at saving me in unsavory circumstances. It’d be easier to live with him if he was an asshole. I think.
“Did. . .did you forget I lived here too?” he asks, searching my face.
“No,” I squeak out.
Yes.
Heat creeps up my neck because not only am I checking out my new roommate, but I’m lying to him. If I’m not careful, I’ll break out in hives. Lying always does that to me.
He cocks one eyebrow, his cheek twitching with a hint of a smile.
“Okay,” he says slowly, “then why are you screaming and looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost?
” As he settles his hands low on his hips, I will myself not to look below his nose.
If I so much as glance down at the way his shirt stretches across his toned chest again, I’m in deep trouble.
As his eyes bore into mine, I find myself wanting to stare into them.
Wanting to memorize their color and the way the green gets darker closer to his pupils.
Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe I’m hungry, or maybe Mercury is in retrograde—but I’m thrown off by him, and I’m not entirely sure what to do about it.
I’ve dated my fair share of passable men, all very meh in their unique way. Truth be told, I’ve never envisioned settling down.
I figured I would be the forever hot single aunt.
It’s not that I’m against long-term relationships. The issue is that I’ve had more than my fair share of failed relationships and I suffer from more than the average number of insecurities. I guess I’ve never felt like anyone would willingly choose me as the person they’re stuck with for eternity.
Sad, but true to how I feel.
I’ve been told more than once that I’m “girlfriend material, not wife material,” which is code for “I’ll fuck you, but I won’t let you meet my parents.”
It all circles back to me being too much.
“Are you okay? Have you eaten anything today? Had enough water?” Beckett’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts.
The tightness in my chest eases a little. I like his nursing side. The way he’s ready to run through the list of possible causes for my odd behavior fills me with warmth and makes me think that maybe he truly cares about me and my well-being.
This is what usually gets me into trouble. The feeling that maybe I’m not actually too much, that maybe someone genuinely cares about me. Because inevitably, I end up burned. I end up the recipient of mockery, disapproving looks, and general annoyance.
And I refuse to let myself get hurt like that again. So I remind myself that Beckett’s just a nice guy. He’s a nurse, so of course he’s worried about my health and safety. It’s ingrained in him. Nothing more. He’d be this caring with anyone.
Brushing the incessant noise in my mind away, I plaster on a smile. “My mind held me hostage for a moment.”
He chuckles, a deep rumble emanating from his chest. One that makes a shiver run down my spine. “You have no idea how much I relate to that.” He runs his hands through his hair, mussing it up even more.
I blink at him, distracted by the pieces of hair standing straight up before I collect myself again. “I heard a meow and wondered if a stray cat had accidentally slipped in.”
Head lowered, he rubs the back of his neck. “I am so fucking sorry. That’s Barbara. I should’ve mentioned her earlier.”
I tilt my head and eye the kitchen counters. “Is Barbara another sourdough starter? One that meows? That sounds like a recipe for a lethal food-borne illness.”
He barks out a laugh. “No. She’s my cat. She can stay with my mom if you’re allergic or don’t like her.” His tone is earnest, comforting.
I can’t help but melt a little in response. “Of course she can stay here. I love cats.”
The voice in the back of my head is back, screaming at me again. Because in reality, I loathe those miniature lions.
Beckett’s face lights up. “Awesome. I’ll find her so I can formally introduce you. I want you to be comfortable around one another. And if you change your mind, I’ll have her stay with my mom, okay?”
As he takes off, my chest sinks a little. Since we discovered we were roommates, he’s focused solely on my well-being, seemingly disregarding his own needs.
It’s admirable and rare, but I can’t help but feel guilty about it.
If I had to guess, Beckett was tucked away silently upstairs when I got home because he didn’t want to be intrusive.
Hell, I didn’t even know we were neighbors as kids. Of course he was out of sight upstairs like a shy ghost hiding from the world.
Earlier, he was so willing to find another place to stay, willing to change his whole plan for me.
My heart sinks. Yes, I hate cats. But Beckett lives here too, and he should feel comfortable in his own home. He shouldn’t feel like he has to hole himself away upstairs or pawn his cat off on his mom.
He reappears a moment later, wearing an eager smile and holding an orange cat with pale stripes and amber eyes.
Taking a hesitant step forward, I inspect the furry feline. When our eyes connect, I find nothing but irritated judgment.
Then she hisses at me.
The orange furball hisses at me like I’ve scorned her in a past life.
This cat will be my demise.