I inhale slowly. Count to five. Try very hard not to be a dick. “Guess so. Which is perfect, because I came up here for peace and quiet. And now we have to track down the owner and get you moved out of here.”
Her head jerks back like I slapped her with a fish. “Me?Why do I have to be the one to move out?”
Oh, she’s serious.
Genuinelyserious.
I blink at her, slowly, deliberately. “Because you just got here. I’ve already been here two days. Unpacked. Settled in. Claimed the good pillow. This is not a time-share—it’s a bloodbath, and I’m winning.”
Get the Fuck Out!
She crosses her arms, clearly not planning on going anywhere. “I brought groceries.”
“So? What’s your point?” I run a hand over my face. I don’t want to be mean. I really don’t. But every nerve in my body is screamingGet the hell out, and I’m one second away from losing it.
“I’m not saying I don’t sympathize,” I tell her. “But I’ve already peed here, so—”
“Wow.”
“Technically makes it mine.”
She glares.
I glare back.
We’re officially in a silent, rage-fueled standoff. Two strangers. One cottage. A single bathroom.
This will end in murder—or marriage—and I’m not sure I’m equipped for either.
“Okay,” I bite out, arms crossed. “Fine. You know what? Go stay at the resort next door. They’ve got rooms. Robes. Probably fresh-baked cookies in the lobby. Sounds like your vibe.”
Her mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Oh my gawd.” She snorts. “If I could afford that place, don’t you think I would’ve booked it to begin with? You think Ichosea cottage because I hate massages and getting pampered?”
“If you stay, you’d be squatting in my cottage like a raccoon.”
“I paid for this week.”
“So did I!”
“Then maybe we should call the host and letthemfigure it out!” she snaps, waving her phone in the air like it’s a sword and this is a duel.
“By all means.” I point at the couch. “Feel free to call. But do it outside. I don’t want your bad-decision energy in my living space.”
She blinks. “Yourliving space?”
“Yes.”
“You mean the space I’m currently occupying because my groceries are in that fridge and my shampoo is in the shower?”
My eyes go wide at her audacity. “Lady, did you not see my shit on the counter? The gym bag? The knee brace on the table? The man-sized shoes by the damn door?”
She flails an arm, sputtering. “Okay! I don’t know—thought maybe the last guest left in a hurry or something! Like, for an emergency? I assumed the cleaning crew—”
“Thecleaningcrew?”
