“You look surprised,” Rhett says with a small smirk as he parks next to the moving truck in the driveway. “I thought you’d been here before.”
What the hell am I going to do with a four-stall garage? “I don’t remember it being this gorgeous. Or large. This is a breathtaking house.”
“It’s been well taken care of. Should just need a good cleanin’ and maybe some traps.”
I tilt my head in confusion. “Traps?”
“For mice.”
“Mice?” I squeak.
Smiling, he attempts—poorly—to hide his laughter, and it eases my fear of the small rodents possibly running amuck in my home. It strikes me how attractive I find him for the most unconventional reasons.
“You don’t like mice?”
“Does anyone?”
“Cats, I suppose. I don’t mind them, but I ain’t plannin’ on keepin’ them as pets.”
My jaw drops even as my stomach bounces at the charming way he drops the “g” from the end of his words. “People do that? Keep mice as pets?”
“There are mouse breeders out there. And you can buy them in pet stores.”
The thought of mice running around as I clean makes me rethink the decision to move out here for a simpler life. Maybe penthouses are where I belong after all.
“I’ll go get your car from the ditch, and if needed, I’ll have it towed to my shop.”
“Shop?”
“Yeah, I have a shop out off of twenty-three, not too far from here. Aside from the dealers in the next town over, we’re the only place that works on cars in town. Usually, we work on large equipment, but business is business.”
Nodding as though I have the slightest clue what he talks about, I smile. “Thank you for the ride, Rhet. And I appreciate your help with my car. As you can about imagine, I’m a bit out of my depth here.”
“I’ll swing by in a bit, either to drop off the car or let you know I’m towin’ it. Is your key in the car?”
“Oh, right, that might be helpful, huh?” I say and blush as I rummage through my purse. Handing him the fob, I smile brightly. “Thank you again.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt as he hops out of the pickup, and he’s opening my door before I have a chance to grab the handle. Taking his hand, I feel the butterflies once again as he helps me onto the pavement. “See you in a bit, Brynlee.”
Rhett climbs back into his pickup and waits until I walk up the wraparound porch before pulling away. If this was a date, I bet he’d wait until I was safely inside before driving away. Chivalry. It’s an intriguing idea. Looks-wise, he’s nothing more than ordinary, but he has an air about him. Something I haven’t come across before and can’t put my finger on yet.
Moving out of the way as the two men who can’t be much more than nineteen barrel out of the house to the truck. Apparently, it wasn’t locked, and I choose not to think too much about that.
The moving company I went with has the motto of “Anywhere you go!” Except there appears to be boundaries they don’t advertise considering I had to stop at a truck stop about fifty miles south of Atlanta to swap trailers with these two. And they complained about how they had a game to get to tonight. Which explains the rushing.
Whatever game they want to attend must be really important because they’ve unloaded half of the truck already. But now I can’t help but add changing the locks to my long list of things to do. Just in case there are keys to the house floating out there.
The place needs a new coat of white paint, but the front door is a bright blue that makes me smile. No wonder people paint accent doors. I get it now.
I step inside and gasp. Besides the thick layer of dust on everything, it feels like a country palace, if there is such a thing.My palace.
Walking into the dining room to the right of the entryway, a table and chairs sit with a large sheet hanging over them. Unable to help myself, I tear the sheet off, choking myself with the flying dust, and run my hand over the beautiful dining room table. It’s a dark-stained wood with intricate designs carved along the legs with matching chairs.
“Why would my father ever want to leave a house like this?” I ask as I imagine a family sitting down to dinner and discussing their day. The idea is so comforting, probably because I never had that.
Every decision I’m making would horrify Mama. Modern and elegant, not rustic and historical. City not country. In her world, vintage, historical, and rustic are just fancy ways to call something old. No, Mama wanted everything new.
Cars, houses, clothes, hairstyles, and men. All new and exciting. Me? I like comfortable. Modern feels clinical to me. Cold. Mama always said I have an old soul, only she didn’t meanit as a compliment. It’s probably why this house speaks to me, and Mama would run away screaming if she could see me right now.
