Chapter 25 Violet
VIOLET
It doesn’t take long to fill out the additional forms Ms. Thomas has waiting for me when I arrive at the apartment.
They’re pretty straightforward when you don’t have to wait for a credit check, but it’s a little difficult to ignore the not-so-subtle stares I catch every time Ms. Thomas thinks I don’t notice.
Yeah, okay. I look like I got hit by a truck.
So sue me. Checking the time on her watch, Ms. Thomas hands me the keys to the small apartment.
It feels like the Taj Mahal compared to my childhood home.
“Unfortunately, I have an appointment, and it seems your roommate is late, but I’m sure she’ll show up in a few minutes,” Ms. Thomas assures me. “June’s a lovely girl. You two will get along splendidly.”
“I’m sure we will. Thanks again, Ms. Thomas.”
“You are more than welcome, Miss Reeves.” She smiles. “If you need anything else, you know where to reach me.”
She exits the apartment, closing the door behind her and leaving me all alone in my new home.
And holy shit, surreal doesn’t even begin to describe the swell of emotions as I take it all in.
It smells like…I don’t know. Beer? Or yeast?
Maybe fresh baked bread? Yeah, that definitely makes more sense than beer.
Thanks, Dad. I peek into the kitchen. A loaf of golden, crusty bread sits on the counter.
My mouth waters at the sight. Did Ms. Thomas bring it as a welcome home gift or something?
That’d be weird. Or maybe not? I don’t know how people in Harden Heights welcome newcomers.
Leaving it where it is, I continue perusing my new place.
The kitchen connects to a small family room that barely fits a loveseat.
From there, a short hallway leads to one large bedroom with two twin-sized beds on the left and one bathroom on the right.
It’s decorated with blue tile and a white linoleum countertop.
Next to the sink is a small make-up bag and a single yellow toothbrush. They must belong to my roommate.
I’ve never had a roommate. I’ve had an asshole father, though, and nothing can be worse than putting up with him twenty-four seven.
Seriously, things can only go up from here.
I don’t care if my mysterious roommate expects me to clean up after them and is up at all hours watching porn in the main room.
They can’t be worse than my old man. No one can.
Which means, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I peek inside the bedroom again, convinced I’m daydreaming when the front door squeaks, and I turn toward the sound. A short, curvy brunette in a pair of blue scrubs with a nametag pinned to her front closes the door behind her. This must be June.
Her keys clatter to the ground when she realizes she isn’t alone. “Crap.” She bends down and snatches the keys from the floor. “Hi.”
Remembering my well-buried manners, I stride closer with my hand outstretched. “Hi. Sorry, if I scared you. I’m your new roommate.”
“Nice to meet you.” She takes my hand and shakes it twice. I don’t miss the way she can’t look me in the eye. “I’m, uh, I’m June.”
“Violet,” I reply. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Letting go of her hand, I add, “I assume you’re wondering why I look like I got hit by a truck?”
Her expression pinches as she looks back at me. “I didn’t want to say anything, but…are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Got in a car wreck while my dad was driving. Thankfully, we were in his car, so mine’s fine.” I tack on an awkward smile. “But I promise, I don’t usually look like shit.”
“Well, that’s good. Not that I care how you look,” she rushes out. “Just that you’re okay. Here. I have just the thing to make you feel better.”
The feel of Jagger’s lips skating across my face hits out of nowhere, but I shove it aside. Not everyone’s at-home remedies for making someone feel better is with kisses. Thank goodness.
Oblivious to my runaway-train of thoughts, June heads into the kitchen and pulls out a knife from one of the drawers. “Sourdough?”
“What?”
“I baked it before work and was daydreaming about it during my entire shift.” She places the loaf onto a cutting board and begins slicing into the crusty bread. “It’s seriously so yummy. Do you want a piece?”
“Uh.” I don’t want to tell her I’ve never tried sourdough. Wonder bread is the best I’ve ever purchased. But I feel too stupid to admit it out loud, so I say, “Sure, thanks.”
With a kind smile, June pushes the cutting board toward me, offering a freshly sliced piece for me to take. “Butter’s in the cupboard, and jam is in the fridge if you want any.”
“Oh, I’ll just…” I pick up a slice and wave it through the air, then take a small bite. My eyes bulge. As soon as the light-as-air, yeasty bread hits my taste buds, I nearly moan. “Holy crap, this is amazing.”
“I know, right?” She slathers some butter onto a slice and nibbles the edge. “My boy, Quasimodough, really knows what he’s doing.”
“Quasimodough?”
“You know, my sourdough starter?” June says. She pulls out a mason jar with white goo. “This is Quasimodough. I use him to help me make bread, crackers, cookies. Basically anything I want.” She caresses the jar like it’s a long-lost best friend. “Anywho, did you see the room?”
I nod.
“Perfect. I’ve been sleeping on the bed closest to the window, but if you want to swap, I’d be happy to—”
“No, no, no,” I rattle off. “The one closer to the door is perfect.”
“You sure?”
I nod again. “Yeah. Positive.”
“Okay.” She takes another bite of sourdough. “But if you change your mind, I’m seriously game for whatever. I’m easy.”
She is. I can tell. Like a happy-go-lucky sunflower or something.
It’s refreshing, and maybe a little confusing, but I like it.
I like her. Honestly, part of me feels as if I won the lottery or something.
Not that the bar was very high to begin with when it comes to my expectations of a roommate, but still.
Fresh baked sourdough and someone who’s willing to compromise? Sign me up.
As she licks a smidge of butter from her thumb, she asks, “What?”
Realizing I’m staring, I look down at the bread in my hand and take another bite. “Nothing, it’s just…you’re not from around here, are you?”
“Is it obvious?” She laughs. “Born and raised in a small town outside of Austin. How ‘bout you?”
“I’m from The Drift.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “Is that like, south of here or…?”
With a smile, I finish the rest of my slice of bread and brush my fingertips together, removing the last of the crumbs. “I think we’re going to be good friends, June.”
Her baby blue eyes crinkle in the corners. “I think so, too.”
“Listen, I should probably grab my things from my house, but I’ll be back in a couple hours.” I start for the door, but she stops me.
“Do you want me to go with you?” she asks. “Maybe help or something?”
“No, I’m good,” I rush out. The idea of someone as sweet and innocent coming face-to-face with my sperm donor is enough to bring out my Mama Bear instincts. “Thank you, though,” I add, trying to soften the blow. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay.” She gives me another sweet smile. “I’m going to hop in the shower, but we’ll hang out when you get back, okay?”
“Sounds perfect.” Closing the door behind me, I step outside and walk down the steps toward my car.
After being up for a bit, my muscles are a little looser, and I can move around a bit better than this morning, but I’m still sore as hell.
I’m sure tomorrow will be even worse, but the sooner I can grab my things and bring them back, the sooner I can steal some actual rest. The idea alone is enough to make me smile.
Sometimes it’s weird. How quickly life can change.
The highs and lows from the past twenty-four hours are enough to leave a girl dizzy.
Yet, here I am. Still standing. As long as I can figure out a way to replace my laptop, I might even make it out of this week okay, and wouldn’t that be the nicest of surprises?
Yeah, it would be amazing. But first? Packing.
Keys in hand, I stop short at the base of the stairs. My jaw drops.
What the hell?
“What are you doing here?” I ask as Roman climbs out of the passenger side of a cherry red Ford Raptor, moving toward the back.
The driver’s side door opens, and Jagger appears. “Hey.”
“Hey?” The simple word manages to jog me from my stupor. I march closer to Jagger’s truck. “What are you doing here?”
“Someone had to pack your shit.”
I stride toward the bed of the truck and peer inside. Sure enough, my things are tucked in boxes. “How did you…” My voice trails off. Turning back to Jagger, I ask, “Did you do this?”
“Pack your shit?” The look he gives me makes me feel like I got hit in the head again and am hallucinating our entire conversation. “Already confessed.”
“Don’t let him take all the credit,” Ford interjects. He must’ve slipped out of the back seat while I was distracted. “Hawke and I did most of the heavy lifting.”
Ignoring him, I give Jagger a pointed look. “No, I mean…” My lips smash together, and I wince from the contact. Ouch. I shake my head, determined to find an answer. “Can I talk to you?”
With a slow nod, Jagger starts toward the edge of the parking lot as I follow behind.
“Keep going!” he calls to Ford and Roman, since Hawke appears to be missing at the moment. Satisfied they’ll do as they’re told, he turns back to me. “There a problem, Little Thief? Although, I might have to reconsider your pet name.”
My face scrunches, and I try to keep up with the conversation, but the man’s way too good at shifting topics on a dime. “And why is that?” I ask.
“Because you’re a terrible thief.”
I fold my arms. “Says the man who literally broke into my house and stole my things.”
Ignoring my sass, he says, “Yeah, your shit took like ten minutes to pack. I thought you had a storage unit or something, but Roman insists—”
“Roman?” I screech. “Roman was with you, too?”