Chapter 1 #2
I know I’m me, but, still, this is a little dangerous, isn’t it? My hubris doesn’t undo the fact I am five-five and a half, in boots…and five-three otherwise. I’m barely half a foot taller than this guy while he’s seated. And—
Oh.
Ohhh.
I think I just recalled something devastating.
This is why we don’t put things like forced proximity in our list of desired romance tropes, isn’t it? Yeah.
Ah well. I guess it’s time to do what I do best.
Tugging my grandmother’s hand off my mouth, I beam. “I’ve never written a murder mystery before.” I adjust my glasses, lean nearer to the giant, and assess him. Jeepers, he really is big. “I wonder if those shoulders would fit in my trunk.”
A flurry of red dances across his cheeks.
I stare at it, confused—for but a moment. Then I gallantly regain my nonsense. “It’d be a pity if I have to cut you up first, but I am more than willing and confident in my ability to get blood out of things.”
His pale skin blisters further, blue eyes wide.
I stare at the clashing shades. Wild. It looks like I also have a knack for getting blood into things—at least where this pretty boy’s cheeks are concerned.
Pulling back, I look at Lynn. “What’s the whole ‘dilemma’, exactly?
And why, prithee, dost mine sanctuary find itself amid the wreckage of thine solution? ”
Defeated, Lynn removes her phone from her purse.
“Mr. Dominic was planning to move into one of my rentals today, but the tenants I evicted broke back in this afternoon and trashed the place. It doesn’t look good.
I’ve already started my appeals, but wrestling with both insurance and the legal system isn’t a swift process.
” Swiping to her photos, she shows me a horror story.
Gaping holes in drywall. Trash everywhere. Busted furniture. Broken cabinets. Spray-painted swears all over the brick outside.
“Jeepers,” I whisper.
Dominic—still subtly tinted—plants his elbows on the table, links his fingers together, and rests his lips against his thumbs.
“I understand these sorts of things happen, but the timing is…disastrous. My last lease overlapped perfectly with this move-in date. Everything I own is in a U-Haul out front, and even if I could drive the four hours back to where I used to live, that’s neither ideal nor a solution.
Mrs. Lynn says that getting things sorted could take months. ”
“Likely the entire summer, if not the rest of the year.” Lynn sighs. “It could be weeks if it were only a matter of repairs, but with the legal system and insurance involved?” She covers her eyes, seeming both defeated and…old.
I’ve never seen her look old before.
I’m not certain I’m a fan.
Inconsiderate as ever, Granee pats me on the back. “Months is fine! You won’t even need to pay to have your things stored. August’s garage is completely empty. Very minimalistic, my granddaughter. There’s plenty of room!”
I’ve never been called minimalistic before.
On account of my preferring to keep everything I own inside my house in a flurry of bright yellow and cream shades instead of chucked neatly in my garage.
Now that I’m thinking about it, the only stuff I have out there is a single obligatory tote of Christmas paraphernalia, because who cares about winter? Not me.
During the traditional Winslow family decoration hop in December, my house takes the least amount of time to Christmas-ify, because even if it must be cold outside, inside my home I prefer it remain summer.
Fixing her attention on me, Lynn lowers her brows and her hand. “I seem to remember that the last time I visited to renew your lease, there…wasn’t exactly a guest room.”
“I turned the guest room into my office.” For writing. And, well, also the full-time virtual assistant work for Mont Business that pays the majority of my bills, but whatever. Mostly, it’s for writing.
Relentless, Granee says, “She has a pull-out sofa.” Her eyes sparkle when they meet mine. “And only one bed.”
In case anyone is curious, I also have regrets. Many, many regrets.
Probably I shouldn’t have given my grandmother anything akin to permission in the way of getting me married by the end of summer.
“Leeann…” Lynn murmurs, saintly and well-endowed with common sense.
“What?” Granee plants her hands on her hips. “Your tenants have to go through background checks before they reach this stage. It’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Oh yes,” I drawl, “because we’ve absolutely zero reasons to believe those background checks aren’t foolproof at this precise moment in time. No offense, Mr. Dominic.”
A soft smile touches the corner of his mouth. “None taken.”
“You have no friends in the area?” I ask.
His eyes lower, then close. “I was hoping to start over.”
Well, if that isn’t…intriguing. This man’s got a dark past he’s running from and a string of the worst luck I’ve ever seen. It’s actually appalling to think that his story is going to slip through my fingers…
But that doesn’t mean I can open my house up to a total stranger just because I feel bad for…
and am more than a little interested in…
him. Come on, August. Use that crazy brain of yours that makes sense out of a dozen plot points and fits everything together in satisfying ways. There’s an answer here. A solution. A…
I snap my fingers. “Wynnter.”
“Winter?” Dominic asks.
I beam. “W-Y-N-N-T-E-R. My older brother. He’s…
” Cantankerous and could unequivocally take you down if you’re secretly a loon.
“…a total people person! Heart of gold, that one.” And walking distance from my house…
“I’m sure he’d be willing to work something out with you while your living situation gets sorted. ”
“But, August—” Granee protests, determined to force the proximity between us, even if it could lead to my demise.
As soon as feasibly possible, I am striking forced proximity from my desired trope list, for I have just decided that I actually hate it.
Spinning on my heel, I dial my brother, lift my phone to my ear, and listen to it ring.
“What?” Wynnter grunts, so peopley person of him.
“Hey, Wynn! Have you ever thought, Man, I wish I didn’t have to pay this rent all by myself? Well then, have I got a deal for you…”