2. Nolan
NOLAN
Weekends off were sacred.
No clients calling about trimming hedges.
No hauling mulch in the back of my truck.
No ripping out overgrown bushes that should have been dealt with years ago.
Just me, my music, a few beers, and whatever project around the house I felt like getting into.
Yesterday that had been repairing my weed eater. Today, it was cleaning my place.
I wasn’t a slob by any means, but a white-glove test wasn’t something my place could pass either.
I’d worked my way through the house, ending in the kitchen.
One of the cabinet doors had been hanging crooked for a month.
So here I was, screwdriver in one hand, beer in the other, with music cranked up loud enough to rattle the windows.
That was the best part.
I sang along to the chorus—badly, and I knew it—while I tightened the last hinge on the cabinet. It swung smooth when I tested it. Not bad for a guy whose actual job was dealing with dirt and grass.
After that, I cracked open a window to let the ocean air in and stood there for a second, soaking in the view.
This was why I lived here. Not because the place was fancy—it wasn’t—but because on days like this, everything was exactly right.
Good music, cold beer, salty air, and not a single person telling me what to do.
My bear stretched lazily inside me, and I took it as a sign of his agreement.
A knock sounded at my front door.
I almost didn’t hear it over the music. When it came again, harder this time, I set my beer on the counter and crossed the living room.
Nobody knocked on my door. Alister always just walked in, and any of my other buddies would text first before swinging by. No delivery guys would come this far down the road unless I’d ordered something, and I hadn’t.
I pulled the door open, and there was a woman on my steps.
She was short with brown hair that fell past her shoulders, and reading glasses pushed up on her head like a headband. Her blue eyes were locked on me with the kind of look that said she’d rather be anywhere else than standing here in front of me.
“Hi,” she said, though it didn’t sound friendly. “I’m renting the other side.”
I stared at her. “The other side of what?”
“This.” She gestured to the duplex. “The other unit. Next door. I got here yesterday.”
Yesterday? I’d been home all day yesterday. Granted, I’d had the music going and had been in and out, but still, I hadn’t seen anyone pull up, and I sure as hell hadn’t been told anyone was coming.
“Nobody’s renting the other side,” I said. “My buddy owns it. He’s traveling.”
She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and held it up. A rental listing stared back at me. Photos of Alister’s unit—the living room, the kitchen, that desk he kept by the window. Below the photos was a confirmed booking with dates, a price, and a name.
Rose Sheplan.
My jaw tightened.
That son of a bitch.
“Give me a second,” I grumbled.
I turned the music down and grabbed my phone from the kitchen counter. My thumbs flew across the screen as I shot off a text to Alister.
What the fuck? You rented your place out? Without telling me?
The three dots appeared almost immediately, which meant wherever Alister was, he had his phone in hand and had probably been expecting this.
Yeah. Just while I’m gone. Figured you wouldn’t mind.
I do mind. A stranger just showed up on my steps.
She seemed nice in her emails.
That’s not the point.
Relax. It’s four weeks. You won’t even notice she’s there.
What part of “she just showed up on my steps” did you not understand?
The urge to throw my phone into the ocean was real.
Alister had a habit of making decisions that affected other people and then acting confused when those people had opinions about it.
It was one of his more annoying qualities, and for a guy who never thought the rules applied to him, that was saying something.
I shoved my phone into my pocket, and I looked at the woman who was still standing at my front door.
She looked like she hadn’t slept well. There were shadows under her eyes, and the way she held herself was full of tension, almost like she was bracing for something.
It was clear that confrontation wasn’t something she generally did.
“So, Alister rented his side out,” I said. “He didn’t tell me.”
“That’s not really my problem.”
My brows furrowed as I held her stare. “Didn’t say it was.”
“Good.”
We stood there for a beat, sizing each other up. My bear shifted inside me, feeling sharp and aware. His attention locked on her in a way that made me uneasy.
Why was he suddenly so focused on her?
I shoved him aside.
“Okay, well. Is there something you needed?” I asked. “Or did you just come over to introduce yourself?”
“What?” Her eyes narrowed. “No. Your music.”
“What about it?”
“It’s too loud.”
“It’s the weekend, and also my day off.”
“I understand that, but I’m trying to work over there on the book I’m on a tight deadline for, and I can hear every word of every song through the wall. Could you maybe turn it down? Even a little?”
She said it like she was trying to be reasonable, but the edge in her voice told me this wasn’t a request. It was a demand wrapped in polite words.
That rubbed me the wrong way.
“This isn’t a library, lady,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “Go be the quiet police librarian somewhere else.”
Her mouth fell open. Then it snapped shut, and those blue eyes went from annoyed to furious in about half a second.
“Are you making fun of me for wearing reading glasses?”
“What? No. I—”
“Because that’s what it sounds like.”
“I wasn’t talking about your glasses. I was talking about you showing up at my door telling me to be quiet in my own house.”
“It’s not even your house. You said your friend owns it.”
My bear made a noise that resembled a chuckle. The bastard was amused by this.
“I live here,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though this woman was testing every ounce of patience I had. “I pay rent. I’ve been here for two years. You’ve been here for one day.”
“And in that one day, I haven’t had a single quiet moment.”
“Maybe you picked the wrong rental.”
Her eyes widened. For a second, her anger dissolved and became replaced by something else—exhaustion, maybe, or defeat. It was gone before I could get a good read on it, replaced by that same stubborn glare she’d been wearing before.
“I have a lease agreement,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I paid in full. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Neither am I.”
“Then I guess we have a problem.”
“Guess so.”
She turned on her heel and walked back toward her side of the duplex. Her steps were quick and sharp, the kind of walk that said she was done with me and wanted me to know it. The door to her unit opened and closed with a firm click. It wasn’t a full-on slam, but it was close.
My bear watched her go. That was the only way I could describe it. He tracked her movement like she was the most important thing in his line of sight. His focus didn’t waver from her until she was out of my view, and even then, he stayed fixed on her presence next door.
What the hell was that about?
I stood in my doorway for another minute, trying to shake off whatever it was he felt.
My bear had never reacted to anyone like that.
Not to a friend, not to a threat, not to any of the women I’d dated over the years.
This was different, though. It wasn’t aggression toward her or alarm.
Honestly, I didn’t have a name for it, and the fact that I couldn’t identify it made it worse.
I didn’t like it.
Slamming my front door shut, I grabbed my beer off the counter and took a long pull. Then I turned the music up even louder.