Chapter 6 Alessia
“So over here is your formal dining room,” Natasha’s realtor chirps, leading my cousin Memphis and I through the house that Natasha’s set to close on tomorrow and my new home.
I flick the single light switch on the wall. The chandelier in the center of the room sputters to life, popping loudly and crackling before the whole thing goes dark.
The realtor jumps, her hand flying to her chest, before letting out a nervous giggle. “Heavens! That scared me! Well, that’s an easy fix, I’m certain.”
Uh-huh. Sure, it is. I don’t know anything about electricity, but something tells me that this home has some serious problems that aren’t easy fixes. I rub my temples, feeling the start of a migraine come on.
“So, I’m guessing there are electrical issues with the house?”
“It’s possible,” she concedes, smoothing her skirt. “These older homes often have outdated wiring. The seller did disclose that it needs work, but for a house this size to be listed at this price with the lake view? It’s a steal. Natasha’s gotten an incredible deal. Just needs a little love,”
Or she got a total money pit. I hope she knows someone who’s handy.
This place doesn’t just “need a little work.” It needs a full teardown and rebuild.
The dining room alone is way too large for what we’ll use, which is likely nothing unless Natasha’s into hosting.
I don’t have friends in Brookhaven so I won’t be throwing any fancy dinner parties and with Natasha’s work schedule, I doubt she will be either.
From what she’s shared, she’s hardly going to be around.
Still, the price that she gave me on rent is the only thing I can afford right now unless I want to crawl back to New York City—which I definitely can’t afford nor want to do now that my new teaching gig is here.
Living here, in this rundown house, is a pit stop in my mind.
One I’m willing to take while I rebuild my life.
And I actually love this kind of stuff. The old architecture has a kind of magic to it, like the house is quietly holding on to stories that no one’s told in years.
From the little the relator shared, the previous owners were big history buffs so there might be some cool finds hidden in the attic.
A restoration project sounds like the distraction I need while I figure out what the hell I’m doing in this small, sleepy town. And sure, I’ll have to make friends beyond Natasha eventually, but… this feels like a decent start.
“Can we see the upstairs now?” I ask, trying to move things along.
The realtor points to a staircase tucked behind the dining room, connecting to the living room.
It’s gorgeous in a haunted house, please-don’t-kill-me-in-my-sleep kind of way.
It looks like something straight out of a movie set where the woman in distress would swing down the staircase singing a sad song and missing her lover who’s passed onto the beyond.
“I bet the ghosts love living here,” I whisper to Memphis as we walk toward the steps.
“Be nice, Aly. You don’t have to live here. You’re choosing to,” he reminds me in a quiet voice.
I draw in a breath, trying not to focus on all the house’s problems—or my own—and look for the silver lining.
Like the carpet on the stairs. It’s not as stained as the carpet in the living room is.
Progress, right? And the fact that if a ghost does indeed live here, I’ll be able to tell him I’m already friends with the one living in my grandmother’s house, a couple streets down.
Ghost neighbors. Or cousins or something, I guess.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But it needs a lot of work,” I whisper.
He nods his head solemnly as I step onto the first stair, my socked feet sinking into the hideous green carpet that sweeps up the staircase.
Why Natasha insisted I take my shoes off before walking in—a directive she bolded in her text to me—is beyond me.
The place is blanketed in dust, reeks of mothballs and mold, and the furniture looks like it’s been here since the ’70s.
“Did the previous owners tell Natasha they’d be leaving their furniture behind?”
The realtor flips through some paperwork in her hands and shrugs. “It’s not in the contract, but these things do happen.”
I grip the banister for balance, trying not to pull it completely out of the floor as it wobbles under my hand.
The stairs creak and groan with every step, but I manage to make it to the top without busting my ass.
Small victories. At least I know not to rush down the steps if I hear someone at the door.
“Okay, so there are four bedrooms,” she says, as Memphis and I trail behind her. “That’s great if Natasha wants to rent out any of the others to make some extra cash...”
“Oh, perfect.” I try to sound positive, but adding more roommates to the mix doesn’t sound appealing right now.
“Well…” The realtor glances at me over her shoulder, her voice dropping into that overly sweet, pitying tone.
“She might change her mind when she sees how much her mortgage is. Just renting out one of these rooms could probably cover the entire payment and let her live here for free. I saw what she’s charging you; that’s very generous of her. ”
Ouch. Message received loud and clear. She thinks I’m ripping Natasha off by what I’m paying her in rent.
I force a tight-lipped smile and blow my dark, curtain bangs that I’ve been growing out of my face before tucking them behind my ears.
I can feel my cheeks pinking up from embarrassment, but I try not to let her see.
Between teaching at the elementary school, my occasional bartending shifts, and clawing my way out from under my divorce lawyer’s bill, it’s all I can afford.
And Natasha gets it. I’ll make it up to her someday.
I push open the door to what I assume is the primary bedroom. The air smells stale, and every surface is covered in a thin layer of dust. The bed frame is stripped bare, the mattress beneath it is boasting some very suspicious stains. It’s a disaster, to put it mildly.
“Please tell me the owners are covering the cost for us to haul this furniture out of here after she closes?” I ask, my voice laced with desperation.
The realtor’s tight-lipped expression says it all. They aren’t. Fantastic.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I step further into the room and veer toward the bathroom. At least this space has potential.
There’s an old, deep soaker tub with claw feet, the kind you’d see on a Pinterest board titled Dream Antique Bathrooms. It looks pristine, as if no one’s ever bothered to use it which is a win. The floor-to-ceiling window next to it overlooks the backyard, and—holy hell.
The view. Dammit this view is worth the ghosts and mothballs.
I move closer to the glass, my boots leaving faint prints across the dusty floorboards.
Outside, a broken dock juts into the lake, but even in its’ sorry state, the scene is simply breathtaking.
The water stretches everywhere, framed by a patchwork of snow on the banks from last week’s storm.
Ducks sit in the middle of the lake like tiny guardians, and other homes dot the shoreline, their matching docks stretching into the blue.
“This is… beautiful,” I murmur softly.
The realtor nods knowingly. “The lake is the selling point for just about every house in Brookhaven and the fact that this bedroom has a balcony makes it even more special. Most of the older homes around the lake don’t have this.”
I press open on the very rusty door handle and step out onto the balcony but not before Memphis pulls me back. “Let’s make sure the beam holding that thing up is still stable before you go walking out there.”
Good point.
For the first time, I get it. Natasha’s impulsive decision to purchase this fixer-upper might be smarter than I gave her credit for. It makes sense now.
Way to go, girl.
“And this part of town is safe for a single woman to live in?” Memphis asks, stepping up beside me.
I catch the way the realtor’s posture shifts—her head tilting, her lashes fluttering as she giggles. Oh no. She’s flirting with my cousin. Gross.
“Brookhaven is very safe,” she assures him, her tone syrupy. “We’ve got the lowest crime rate in the state. She’ll be fine here. Will you be here to visit often?”
Memphis doesn’t seem to notice or care, because he’s already inspecting the windows, tapping the dirty panes to test the glass. I watch as he flips a switch in the bathroom corner. The light flickers weakly for a few moments, sputtering out with a stutter and a pop.
He turns to me, deadpan. “We’ll get you an electrician. This is ridiculous.”
“I think Natasha might already have someone in mind,” I say causing Memphis to roll his lips under his teeth, like he’s turning it over in his head. After a second, he nods, a small gesture that feels like reassurance that I’m not making a major mistake.
This is why he’s always been my favorite male in the entire human species. I didn’t grow up with brothers, didn’t have a dad, grandfather or any uncles in my life. Memphis has always been the closest thing to it. A constant, the one person who reminds me there might still be good men out there.
I’m not sure where, because they seem to be hiding from me. I hope he and Natasha enjoy their date. I think they’d be good together.
“Okay, well… I guess that’s it, then?”
The realtor beams. “So, you’ll be moving in with Natasha this weekend?”
I nod again, because honestly, I have no other choice. Natasha even offered me the primary bedroom with the attached bathroom that we just looked at, though now I get why—it’s a mess.
“Yeah.”
“Perfect!” She claps her hands, then flashes us a bright smile before heading out. “Good luck!”
And just like that, it’s just me and Memphis, standing in the echoing silence of this old, dusty house.
“I’ll help you clear out this junk and move your stuff in,” he offers. “You’re not doing this alone.”
I nod. “I appreciate that.”
He steps closer and rests his hands on my shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. “Tell me that you’re going to be okay?”
I smile. “I’m going to be okay.”
Here I am, twenty-eight-years old, starting over.
Again. Trying to rebuild my life after my cheating husband blew everything that I thought I knew apart.
Trying to find the joy that I used to feel, the excitement I used to have for teaching kids—the career I once loved but for years could barely look at without flinching.
Most days, I’m just trying to survive. Some days, it feels like I’m drowning, like the weight of everything is pressing down on me, holding me underwater.
The past two years have left my nerves frayed and my need for control only amplified.
Moving in here with Natasha, out of my grandma’s house…
sure, it’s unexpected but maybe it’s the catalyst I need back to a new, independent version of myself that’s thriving. Thriving during the storm.
I let out a shaky breath and glance up at him. His eyes are full of concern, soft and steady, like he’s afraid I’m making the biggest mistake of my life by not just hauling my ass back to New York City with him and crashing on the floor of his apartment until I think this through more carefully.
“I’m going to be okay. I can’t go back to the city. I can’t go backwards. I’m going to figure this out. It just might be a little bumpy along the way.”
He nods, studying me quietly. “Well, the city’s only a quick train ride away. If you need me, I’m here. Always, Aly.”
I try to smile, but it feels weak, like it’ll crack if I’m not careful. “Okay…Hey, enjoy your date with Natasha. She’s probably one of the sweetest, loveliest people I’ve met here. So be nice to her.”
He smiles. “Okay. I will.”
Cheers to new beginnings.