Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
PENELOPE
Somehow, I’d managed to avoid Declan the rest of the day as I settled in. Probably thanks to the fact that I’d mostly stayed in my room—partially because I was organizing it how I liked and partially because that window cushion was really comfortable.
My phone buzzed as I was tucking my last pair of fuzzy socks into the drawer, and Willa’s name lit up the screen. She was the person I was closest to in town, but I still held her—and her soon-to-be sisters-in-law—at arm’s length. Old habits died hard.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Her voice was warm but efficient, like she was already elbow-deep into jam prep and only had a second to talk. “Quick question—do you need anything from me for Steele & Bramble’s booth at the book fair next week?”
I shot upright, panic rushing over me in a wave.
“Didn’t I send that to you? Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Willa!
I could’ve sworn I emailed the vendor form on Monday.
Or maybe it was Tuesday? I had it ready to go.
I even added a note about your booth placement—near the cider cart, like last year?
But then everything happened with the Court of Mabel and this whole moving in with Declan situation, and it all just—”
“Pen,” she said, her firm tone cutting through my ramble.
“Right. Sorry.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “No excuses. I messed up. I’ll run over to the library right now and get it sent.”
“God, it’s like kicking a kitten,” she mumbled.
My brows drew down. “What?”
“First, let me just say, I’m the worst. You sent it, okay? The form’s in my inbox. Along with the follow-up you sent two days later.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand…”
“You would if your husband was Lincoln Steele.”
“Hey! Don’t blame this all on me, wife,” Lincoln called from the other end of the line. “You wanted to know just as bad.”
“Wanted to know what?” I asked.
“The gossip.”
“About…the book fair?”
“Penelope. No. About your new roommate.”
“About my—oh.”
“Are you two coexisting peacefully or plotting to murder each other?”
“Um…somewhere in the middle?”
“So foreplay, then.”
I sputtered. “What? No! It’s—it’s not like that. He’s just—”
“Tall, dark, brooding, and emotionally unavailable?” she offered. “Yeah. You really got stuck with the short end of the roommate stick.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m not trying to help. I’m trying to assess how soon I need to send Sutton over with ice packs and pain reliever.”
“Why would you need to send any of that?”
She snorted. “Look, you are Miss Suzy Sunshine with literally everyone else in Starlight Cove. But when Declan comes around, your claws come out.”
“They don’t…”
“Sure. Just like whatever this weird tension between you two isn’t foreplay.”
She let it drop after that, which I was grateful for. Whatever Willa thought she saw between Declan and me, she was wrong. Entirely.
We ended the call with a tentative plan for girls’ night soon, and I shoved my phone into my pocket before I could overthink what she’d said.
Wanting to stay firmly out of my head and keep busy, I pulled on a hoodie and headed downstairs to grab the rest of Darcy’s things from my car. I strode down the hallway, turned up the thermostat to a reasonable seventy-two along the way, and headed outside.
Late September in Starlight Cove was a liar of a month—so sunny during the day, it would trick you into a false sense of security.
But as soon as that sun dipped below the horizon or behind a patch of clouds, Mother Nature slapped you in the face, reminding you this coastal paradise sat on the edge of the Atlantic and was no stranger to Nor’easters.
Once I’d grabbed Darcy’s remaining things—scratching post, cat bed, and his overflowing basket of toys—I hauled them upstairs and into the apartment. Not that my cat even needed them. He was currently curled up on the couch on one of Declan’s hoodies like the little traitor he was.
I thought I could count on that furball to back me in my irritation with Declan. Or at the very least, give the man the same cold shoulder Darcy gave everyone else.
Alas, my once-loyal companion had betrayed me for cotton that probably smelled like cedarwood and bad decisions.
I strode toward my room with my arms full of Darcy’s things and paused in the hallway. The thermostat read sixty-eight for the temperature and the setting.
I frowned. That wasn’t right. I’d set it to seventy-two before heading down to my car… Hadn’t I?
A chill swept over me, and I shuddered, muttering a soft, “Absolutely not.”
I bumped the temperature up to seventy-two again, pausing long enough to ensure the thermostat registered the change before heading to my room.
After setting up Darcy’s scratching post, finding the perfect spot for his bed, and a tucked away but still accessible place for his basket of toys, I wasn’t any warmer. In fact, I felt somehow colder than before.
With a shiver, I pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks—soft, absurdly thick, and patterned with cats. No doubt the perfect ammunition for Declan to mock me, but I didn’t care. Not when my feet were basically blocks of ice at this point.
I gathered my tea tins and headed toward the kitchen, glancing once again at the thermostat before stopping dead in my tracks.
The electronic display now read sixty-five.
What the actual hell was going on here?
Was it broken? Was this some kind of energy-saving feature Mabel hadn’t warned me about? Or—oh god—was this apartment haunted?
With a wary glance around at the—maybe?—lurking spirits, I adjusted the temperature again. Pushing the up arrow slower this time, I kept my eyes locked on the display with every increased degree in case it decided to betray me again.
So far, so good.
Suspicious but cold, I triple-checked that the numbers on the thermostat read seventy-two, then I strode into the kitchen to organize my temporary tea station.
Soft pink stovetop kettle that whistled like a banshee—check.
Ceramic mug of a fox whose tail doubled as the handle—check.
Copper tins containing my favorite tea blends—check.
Making tea for myself was one of my favorite rituals, something I indulged in as often as I could.
I was just grateful there was space enough for all my supplies.
The only way it would’ve been more perfect was if I didn’t have to share it with the only man—the only person—in existence who could get under my skin.
I didn’t know if it was the thought of Declan or because I was still feeling chilly, but another shiver hit, stronger this time. Damn. Was there a draft in here? A window left open somewhere?
I stepped out of the kitchen, looking for the culprit…and caught my temporary roommate standing in the hallway, those troublemaking fingers poised on the thermostat.
The realization hit me like a dropped book to the face.
“You,” I said, voice sharp.
He glanced toward me over his shoulder, his expression blank. “Me?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re doing this on purpose!”
He finished messing with the thermostat before turning fully toward me, brows lifted just slightly. “Doing what?”
“Trying to freeze me out. Sixty-five degrees—”
“Sixty-four now.”
“—is basically attempted murder.”
“You’re the one trying to bake me alive.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m trying not to freeze to death. You have it set to arctic levels. And I already run cold.”
“Apparently.” He dropped his gaze, allowing it to linger right where I could feel my nipples straining against my hoodie, the lining of my bra no match for the chill. “I run hot.”
Had his voice dropped even lower than usual on those three words?
Crossing my arms over my chest, I swallowed hard, realizing just how close we stood.
Maybe it wasn’t the chill that had my nipples tightening into unbearably stiff peaks but the stark difference in temperature between the cool air surrounding me and the looming wall of muscle radiating heat in front of me.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “This is a shared space. You can’t just sabotage the thermostat because you’re feeling too warm. I’m wearing four layers right now, and I’m still cold.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m only wearing one, and I’m still hot.”
Without my permission, my gaze dropped to catalog every inch of him. The tattoos and the too-tight sleeves of his T-shirt and his obnoxious biceps and ridiculous chest. And then, because my brain hated me, it oh-so helpfully supplied an unsolicited image of Declan without any layers at all.
Just broad shoulders and defined muscles and inked skin and—
“Oh, I understand now.” He hummed low in his throat, his eyes sparking with smug satisfaction. “If you wanted me to walk around in fewer clothes, you could’ve just asked nicely, rebel.”
My pulse leapt traitorously, and for one mortifying second, my imagination sprinted back to where it had left off before he’d opened his mouth.
No. Absolutely not.
I straightened my spine and glared at him.
“You are wildly overestimating your influence over my thermostat settings.” I pushed my glasses up my nose with far more force than necessary. “The only thing I asked for was seventy-two degrees. Try to keep up.”
After a day of chaos, the apartment was finally quiet. Peaceful.
I was in my favorite pajama pants, fuzzy socks, and an oversized Muppet-adjacent hoodie that doubled as an emotional support blanket. My chamomile tea was steeping. The temperature was finally holding steady at our compromised seventy degrees.
All signs pointed to the safe zone.
Facing the kitchen counter, I pulled the tea infuser from my mug, added a bit of honey, and stirred counterclockwise, like the motion itself could rewind time and stop this move from ever happening.
Alas, I was still here. Still rooming with Declan Steele. Still stuck in his orbit for one long month.
At least I’d survived my first day of living with him.
I lifted the mug, breathing in the soft chamomile steam, only to realize it wasn’t the tea I was smelling. It was him.