Chapter 2
Harlyn
Ignoring my phone and the many alerts I’ve gotten in the last five minutes since I hung up with Liv, I head to the front door and enter the six-digit code I preregistered for the entrance with the owner.
The green light and rolling mechanical sound of the lock disengaging that accompanies it tells me I’m in the right place.
The space beyond the door is airy, with floor to ceiling windows on the rear wall, showcasing a lake view I can’t help appreciating, even while glancing around the rest of the room.
To the left is a staircase. The floating treads are made of a light wood that complement the cream walls and turquoise accents.
I place my bag on the floor near my feet. I’m not used to being in unfamiliar places alone anymore. This didn’t seem quite so daunting on paper or in my thoughts, but now I feel the need to search the place from top to bottom to confirm I truly am alone.
I take a quick look behind me, noting the bright sunlight streaming in through the glass storm door, and decide to get the hard part over with.
The main floor’s open plan makes it fairly easy to peruse.
There are a few closets hidden behind closed doors and a small bathroom to interrupt the flow.
Other than finding a vacuum and some random cleaning supplies, the place is empty.
When I grasp the railing of the stairs to continue my tour, the apprehension from moments earlier returns.
I know there are three large bedrooms from the listing, each with ensuites attached on the upper floors.
I planned to make the third-floor loft space my room for my stay, but now I’m not so sure how I feel about that after seeing how open it is to the space below.
The stairs are silent as I ascend to the first landing.
I don’t allow myself to be sucked into the view below or even the crystal blue water throwing sparkles of light my way through the glass.
Instead, I check out the small but comfortable seating area.
The chairs would make a great place to sit and read.
On each end of the alcove is an open door.
Choosing the nearest, I peer into the oversized bedroom, finding a neatly made bed and light furnishings.
I’m tempted to leave it at that, but there’s no way I could relax without making sure there’s no one hiding inside, waiting for me to drop my guard.
Straightening my shoulders, I take a deep breath and enter the first bedroom, and my nose wrinkles at the strong scent of artificial vanilla that overwhelms my senses.
My eyes sweep around until I find a little white scent diffuser plugged into one of the outlets.
I’m glad to know the place is clean, but it’s a little strong in here, which makes me wonder if they are trying to cover something up.
Maybe the previous tenant smoked or something.
I start to get a little more comfortable when I find the bathroom and closet as empty as the rest of the house.
I like the fact that it isn’t filled with clothes and belongings, because it makes it easy to see into all the nooks and crannies.
The second room on the same floor is just as uneventful, though it does have a view of the water from the windows.
If the top floor doesn’t work out, I’ll happily take this one.
I like the stormy gray colors on the walls and dark, heavy furniture.
Just as I’m about to head up to the final floor, my phone vibrates with a call. This time I answer it without even looking at the screen. There are only a handful of people who have my number, and I already know who it is. Livy must be getting desperate if she’s actually calling.
“Hello.” My voice echoes through the house as I climb up the final treads. “Oh, damn,” I mutter before Liv responds.
“What’s wrong?” she rushes out.
“Nothing.” I dismiss her concern quickly then explain, “Is it possible to fall in love with a house?”
“A condo, you mean,” she corrects.
I roll my eyes at the distinction. Livy is obsessed with owning a home by the time she is twenty-five, which is fast approaching, and she doesn’t think a condo fits that bill.
She has her reasons—privacy, the monthly fees, and bylaws are the most noteworthy.
I, on the other hand, tend to think the benefits outweigh the cons.
Point in fact, I see a man through the window, dressed in a neat khaki uniform, cutting the grass, something I have no interest in doing myself.
Not to mention I don’t relish the idea of living all by myself where your neighbors might not hear you scream for help.
No one heard Hayzel’s screams. It’s unsettling how an errant thought can intrude and derail such a beautiful moment.
I shove the dark thought into the recesses of my mind where they are never truly forgotten.
“Yeah, a condo, a really nice condo,” I say while walking over to the shutter style double doors to the left of the bed.
Behind the doors, I find a pristine white bathroom.
The shower stands out as the focal point with a wall that looks like it could be a giant piece of sliced agate.
The colors mimic those of the lower level, teal and turquoise with fine lines of gold in a rough circle.
“Is it cold?” Liv doesn’t seem distracted by my awe.
“I’m switching to FaceTime. You have to see this place.”
“I looked at the listing with you,” she reminds me, but her face shows up in my screen moments later.
“It isn’t cold.” I give her a wry smile.
“Maybe not now, but any place that gets over seventy inches of snow on average a year is cold.”
“You don’t complain about the amount of snow in Aspen.”
“Because I only go there once a year, or every other year, and it’s with a purpose.” She waves her hand dismissively.
I chuckle softly. “Yeah, to drink spiked hot cocoa and look cute sitting beside the fire. Besides, Aspen doesn’t have this.” I hit the button to swap cameras, allowing her to see the view from the third floor loft.
“A blue sky?” Her clear voice comes from the phone.
“It’s not just the sky, that’s the water. I swear it looks just like the ocean. It goes on forever.”
“What about the condo?” She doesn’t seem impressed, but I’m not surprised. Livy didn’t want me coming to Michigan at all. When she learns I’m not in any rush to return home, she’s going to be even more pissed. I should tell her. Guilt washes over me, but I still don’t mutter a word about my plans.
“It’s really nice.” I flip the camera and take her with me on the rest of the short search of the upper floor, secretly hoping she will love the place as much as I do.
Keeping that in mind, I show her some of the highpoints of the rest of the house.
She eventually admits to liking the floor plan and even the beachy furnishings.
We spend a good while on the phone, chatting until my stomach grumbles for the tenth time, and I decide I can no longer ignore my gut. “As much as I wish I could stay on here all day, I need to go. I’m starving, and I still have a bunch of stuff to do.”
“Like what? Did you reschedule the interview so you could come home early?” She sounds too hopeful.
“No, but I need to line up a few other things,” I hedge.
I don’t have the guts to tell her I have several boxes being delivered tomorrow for my extended stay, along with a rental car.
She thinks I’m only going to be here a week, two tops, but I booked the place for the entire summer with the option to extend as long as no one books it before I decide what the hell I’m going to do.
She’ll warm up to the idea. She has to understand why I can’t stay in Texas anymore. Everything is just too raw. Plus, I’m hoping to convince her to come stay with me, at least for a little while when her internship is over in a couple weeks.
“I wish you would have waited for me,” she complains.
“I couldn’t, Livy. You understand, right? I couldn’t miss this opportunity.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” We both sound sad, but it’s because we are. It might be a good thing for us to spend a little time apart. We’re dangerously close to being codependent, and maybe we already are.
“Listen, I will call you later, after I get something to eat, yeah?”
“Okay, talk to you soon, Har. Love you.”
The phone goes dead before I have a chance to respond, but I do it anyway. “Love you too.” I try not to leave anything left unsaid anymore.
As I pull the phone from my ear, I see an alert from the ride share app with a fee of six dollars, which is much less than I expected, prompting me to look a little closer and realize the fee is for a cancelation.
“What the hell?” I hit the notification, and it opens the app where I see the six-dollar fee charged with a warning that excessive cancelations will risk my account being banned.
Confused, I poke around, looking for how I might have accidently booked another ride since arriving at the condo.
Considering I barely have a history, it’s easy to see the cancelation isn’t from a new ride.
It says it was my ride here from the tiny airport twenty minutes away that was cancelled.
I examine the screen again, thinking I’m missing something, but I come to the same conclusion.
There’s an alert that the driver canceled the ride forty-five minutes ago when I failed to show up.
I look at the time stamp at the top of my phone, noting the fact that forty-five minutes ago, I was probably still in his car.
“What’s the point?” I question, wondering if this is some kind of scam. “Shit!” It’s then I realize I never tipped the driver. I was too preoccupied with looking at the property and the lake to even remember to check the app after getting out of the car.
A flush steals its way over my cheeks from embarrassment. Unbidden, the image of his face—well, as much of his cheek and jaw I could see—pops up in my head.
A groan slips from my lips as I sink back onto the chair and cover my eyes. I thought he was kind of cute. I even forced myself to make small talk and asked him about places to eat. He probably felt sorry for me since I’m clearly clueless, but why cancel the ride and lose out on money?
After a few more seconds of mortification.
I finally look at my phone again, noting the icon at the bottom of the screen to report an issue with the ride.
I hover my finger over the oval for several heartbeats before deciding to just let it go.
I don’t want to report him and possibly cause him an issue when he did me a favor.
I flick the app away and pull up my search engine to look for pizza near me. Delivery will have to do. I think I’m done with ride shares for the time being.