Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Beckett
We’re roommates.
Unless she wants me to leave.
I study Joey, then her brother. “I, uh, I think there’s been a mix-up. Did the landlord double-book us?”
The landlord, Susan, surely made an error. However, it’s a two-bedroom, two-bathroom home, and she was frazzled when I called her about the place.
Jack looks down and digs his phone out of his pocket. “Sorry, I have to take this.” He wanders away, putting the device to his ear, leaving just Joey and me. Alone.
“I can—” I begin.
“We don’t—” Joey starts.
We exchange a sheepish glance.
I thread my trembling fingers through my hair and make eye contact. “I’m sorry. Please, go ahead.” A restless flutter presses against my chest, my anxiety creeping higher by the second.
She shifts on her feet, playing with the hem of her jacket. “I was just going to say we don’t have to live together. I can find someplace else.”
With my lips pressed together in a firm line, I shake my head. “Absolutely not. I’ll find another place to stay. It’s not a big deal.”
That’s a lie, and I’m mildly panicking inside. There’s no way my aching body would survive sleeping on my mom’s couch for the next three months.
Joey surveys me, then the cottage, then me again, biting the corner of her lower lip. Then she lets out a heavy sigh. “Are you going to kill me?”
I jolt and rear back, my heart thudding. “Wh-what? No. I-I would never. Why would you think that?”
She narrows her eyes on me, the scrutiny in them enough to make me want to hide in a nearby bush. “All right roomie, house rules,” she says. “One: You must listen to me vent about work since my sister won’t.”
I give her a quick nod. “Yes, ma’am. My ears are at your service.”
She furrows her brows at that.
Wincing, I duck. “That sounded better in my head, sorry.”
“Two,” she says, ignoring my comment, “I need my dissociation time. If I’m staring off into oblivion, looking possessed, do not talk to me. Do not look at me. Do not perceive me. Pretend I don’t exist.”
I swallow thickly. Maybe I should be worried about her killing me. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll tiptoe around you and make my presence scarce.”
“Finally, and this is the most important one, okay?”
I furiously nod. At this point, I’m pretty sure my life depends on it.
“Do not touch my snacks. If I see so much as a single cookie or cracker missing, I’ll shave your eyebrows off while you’re sleeping. Got it?”
Dear god. Maybe I do need to live with my mom. This sunshine girl becomes a raging thunderstorm when snacks are involved.
Except. . .Why do I kinda like it?
“Listen. Ignore. Starve. I think that sums up your rules.” I give her a sharp nod.
Joey’s pink lips curl slightly at the corners, but she quickly presses them together, trying her damndest to suppress a smile. There’s no hiding the playful glint in her eyes, though. And it makes my heart rate kick up a little.
I silently beg the universe, desperately wishing for that infectious smile to reappear.
Instead, she settles her hands on her full hips, skirt swaying in the gentle breeze. “All right, Beckett. Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
She cocks a brow. “Your house rules.”
I’ve lived alone for most of my nursing career, so I suppose I don’t have house rules.
“I don’t have any rules.”
She tilts her head, her expression full of disbelief. “You’ve got to have at least one rule.”
I drop my head, studying the ground, racking my brain for a rule that will suffice.
When it hits me, I lift my head, eyes locked on her. “Don’t touch Agatha.”
“Who the hell is Agatha?”
“My sourdough starter.”
As her eyes widen dramatically, I try to keep a straight, serious face. It’s difficult. And though I want to laugh at her reaction, I am quite serious about Agatha.
“What in the Martha Stewart do you mean? Is that a joke?”
“Nope,” I deadpan.
“You have a sourdough starter. Named Agatha.”
I nod. “Yep.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“I have so many questions.” She exhales, her chest deflating.
“I’ll be sure not to answer them during your dissociation time.” My tone is serious, but my cheek twitches with a smile.
For a moment, we assess one another, feet firmly planted on the ground, eyes locked, and brows pinched.
“Do you accept my rules?” Joey finally asks.
“Absolutely.” I dip my chin. “Do you accept my singular rule?”
She lets out an unimpressed exhale. “I suppose,” she finally says. “Can you clarify one thing for me, though?”
“Of course.”
“How does a guy who looks like he got kicked out of a biker gang have a sourdough starter?”
A deep laugh rumbles in my chest. Feeling brave, I approach her, only stopping when my dirty black boots nearly touch the toes of her well-worn brown shoes. Her breath hitches, and the air between us thickens, charged with an electricity I’ve never experienced before.
I examine her face, memorizing the pattern of her freckles. “Never judge a book by its cover, Josephine.”
The column of her delicate throat moves as she swallows hard. With a furrowed brow, she studies me.
The overthinking part of my brain takes off at a sprint.
Most people wouldn’t think twice about rooming with a beautiful woman.
But I’m not like most people—obviously, since I have a named sourdough starter, enough journals inked with my thoughts to fill a library, and a cat who needs a nightly banana.
Stepping back, I clear my throat. “Are you sure about this? If it makes you uncomfortable, I can find another place to live.” I run my trembling hands through my hair.
“You probably don’t want to live with some random guy.
Plus, my work hours are erratic. It can be obnoxious.
If I work late, I’ll try to be as quiet as possible.
Or if you still have concerns about me, I can give you a few character references.
I’ve had a couple roommates in the past. I haven’t spoken to them since college, but I’m sure they would—”
“Beckett,” she says. “Stop. It’s fine. Really.
If I’m remembering the layout of the house correctly, it should be easy for us to have our own space.
We’ll share a couple of common areas and probably won’t cross paths much,” she rambles.
“Like you said, you sometimes work weird hours. And I’m a pro at making myself scarce if I become too much.
On top of that, it’s only for a few months. ”
Making myself scarce if I become too much.
That stops me dead in my tracks.
Before I can think better of it, I say, “Wh-what do you mean you’re good at making yourself scarce? Why would I want you to make yourself scarce?”
Joey opens her mouth, her expression full of confusion, but before she can speak, her brother returns.
“Sorry about that. A client needed me.”
As he wanders closer, I take a few steps back, putting a healthy distance between us.
Head down, focused on his phone, he says, “I swear. Everyone in this town is a few cards short of a full deck.” He looks up, attention bouncing from Joey to me and back again. “Did we figure out the mix-up? Do I need to call someone to fix it?”
“Susan must have double-booked the house. We figured it out, though. We’ll both stay here since the layout makes the space easy to share.” Joey shifts back and forth on her feet, her colorful skirt swaying with the motion.
Jack’s nod is tentative, his eyes uncertain. “You sure?”
With a frown, Joey studies her brother. “Uh, yeah.”
“Good, because that wasn’t a client,” Jack grits out. “I was running a background check on Beckett.”
My stomach lurches. “How the hell were you able to run one so fast?” I’ll give it to the guy. He works quickly.
He zeroes in on me, expression hard. “I know a lot of people in high places, Beckett Isaiah Hart. And according to my source, you’re a thirty-four-year-old Aquarius who has a credit score of 803. Sound about right?”
“Damn,” Joey says.
I twist my head sharply at the comment and find her watching me.
“What?” she asks, head tilted. “That’s a superb credit score.” She shifts her attention to her brother. “Any criminal record?”
Jack shakes his head. “Not even a speeding ticket. Unlike someone I know.” He gives his sister a pointed glare.
I can’t help but chuckle at the banter, which causes them both to home in on me, eyes narrowed.
I put my hands up in defense. “Sorry, sorry. Not funny. Speeding isn’t a joke. It’s a very serious offense that shouldn’t be taken lightly.” I turn my attention to Jack, and he gives me a sharp, approving nod.
Thank fuck.
“Oh. You’re on his side now? Why don’t you two live together, then?” Joey crosses her arms, her chin lifted, prepared for battle.
Dammit.
On one hand, I’m worried about which sibling would be the most dangerous when pissed off. On the other hand, I can’t help but acknowledge how cute Joey looks right now. Her flushed cheeks, turned-up nose, and pinched brows make my knees go weak.
Not the time, Beckett. Journal about it later.
Jack blows out a deep breath. “While you two figure out whatever it is you’re trying to figure out, I’ll go inside and double-check that everything works properly.
The last thing I want is to be woken up at two a.m. because the furnace isn’t pumping out heat and you can’t figure out how to switch it over with a simple button. ”
“That was one fucking time, okay?” Joey groans. “I live in my van 75 percent of the year. I don’t know how basic heating and cooling works in a house. Isn’t that what people hire you for?” She drops her arms to her sides with a soft thud.
Muttering under his breath, Jack heads inside the cottage with an oversized duffel bag thrown over his shoulder.
My mind once again swirling with confusion, I look from his retreating form to Joey. “Is he also living with us?” I point at the house.
Though her expression is neutral, her tone drips with sarcasm as she says, “Yes. And you two will share bunk beds.”
I tilt my head, trying to get a better read on the look on her face. “Are you being facetious right now?”
“Absolutely.” The fiery woman spins on her heel, skirt twirling, and strides across the front yard to the cottage.
“This should be interesting,” I mumble to myself.
“Heard that!” Joey yells over her shoulder.
I drag my feet, following Jack and Joey into the house.
When I step inside, I’m immediately taken aback.
On the exterior, the house looks like a quintessential log cabin.
On the inside, though, it’s warm and welcoming.
Cream-colored walls accent the wood paneling in the spacious open-concept living room.
An oversized gray couch and a plush chair frame a large, colorful rug in the middle of the space.
Tucked off in one corner is a small kitchen with an island that looks perfect for stress baking loaves of bread with Agatha.
Floor-to-ceiling windows surround the kitchen, transforming it into a glass observatory enveloped by the dense woods.
Dappled sunlight filters through the rustling leaves, casting ever-changing shadows across the countertops.
Joey was right. Two people can live here comfortably without bumping into one another often.
There’s a bedroom with a connected bathroom to the right of the kitchen.
I take the wooden staircase to the second floor and find another bedroom and a full bathroom.
The sloped ceilings frame a large skylight, allowing natural light in during the day and glittering stars at night.
It’s perfect.
Plus, there’s a study area in a small alcove, with a desk sitting in front of a window and overlooking the lush forest.
Simple, old-fashioned contentment fills my chest. I imagine myself sitting at the mahogany desk after work, unwinding and journaling while Barbara lazily paws at my pen.
The older I get, the more I appreciate the simple pleasures in life.
My favorites being a lazy Sunday with my cat, a long ride on the open road, and baking a successful loaf of bread.
“Earth to Beckett! You okay up there?” Joey’s voice pierces through my thoughts, echoing up the stairs.
I shuffle to the landing and find Joey looking up at me with one arched eyebrow. I can’t tell whether it’s an approving or disapproving arch. To be honest, I’m equal parts scared and intrigued by the look.
“Yeah. Sorry,” I say as I slowly descend the stairs. “I zoned out for a bit. Do you mind if I take the upstairs?”
“Sure. I figured you’d want the room closest to the kitchen, though.”
I tilt my head. “Why?”
“I heard through the grapevine that you and someone named Agatha enjoy late-night rendezvous involving a good kneading after getting baked, if you know what I mean.”
“Technically, you knead first and then bake. I’ll give you an A for effort, though. The pun was clever.”
“You’re no fun.” She makes a mock sad face and then breaks into her classic radiant smile. “All right, I’m going to grab the last of my things from my sister’s place. I’ll be back a little later.”
With that, she and her brother are gone, and I’m left alone with my thoughts amid the quiet, sunlit space. With one more look around the place, I make a plan. I’ll do some grocery shopping, pick up Barbara, and unpack my stuff.
I’m cautiously excited about our new living arrangement, though I don’t know whether Joey feels the same. What if she absolutely loathes living with me and my cat?
Shit.
I forgot to mention Barbara.
It’s fine. . .I think. I hope. If she does loathe my cat, my mom would be more than happy to take her for a few months.
As I stand in the empty house, relishing the peacefulness, a small flutter of a crush stirs in my stomach.
Thankfully, I’m pretty good at locking down my emotions.
It’s hard not to be drawn to Josephine. Her laughter is infectious, her smile fills me with light, and she exudes comfort.
She intrigues me like no other person ever has, and I want to know more about the kindhearted, caring woman.
Despite the scars left by previous girlfriends, I’m drawn to her.
A small voice in the back of my head urges me to try one more time, screaming, Maybe this is the one you’ve been looking for all along.
But now, as roommates, I worry the dynamic will shift too much. That I’ve missed my chance. I’m not sure she’ll see me as more than a friend.
Eyes closed, I inhale deeply. Then I let out a slow, measured breath to ease my racing thoughts. I need to focus on what I can control in this moment, or else I’ll be stuck in a wind tunnel of rumination.