It’s painted white with blue trim around the windows, with a small porch off the front door, only big enough for a little outdoor table and chair to sit to one side.
“That’s not what I was expecting when you said guest house,” I admit.
“What were you expecting?”
“Something more… shed-adjacent.”
“It’s not a shed.”
“I can see that.”
He unlocks the door and pushes it open, stepping inside first to flick on the lights. I follow him in, my gaze moving slowly over everything as it comes into view. It’s a properly self-contained studio, and it’s cute.
A small kitchenette runs along one wall. There’s a bookshelf with a few neatly stacked paperbacks, and a beautifully made bed taking up most of the room, with fluffed-up pillows and cushy-looking comforters. On the other side, through an open doorway, I can see a small ensuite bathroom.
I step toward it and stop.
“There’s a bath,” I say, unable to keep the note of delight out of my voice.
He leans against the wall. “There’s a bath.”
“You didn’t mention that.”
“I didn’t think it would be a deciding factor.”
I glance back at him. “You underestimated me.” He watches me as I step fully into the bathroom, running my fingers lightly along the edge of the tub. “This is really nice.”
“It’s fine.”
I move back into the main room, taking it in properly now. The place smells faintly of fresh linen and wood polish. The cushions are plumped. A knitted throw is folded neatly over the back of an armchair. Miss Mabel’s touch, I’m guessing.
“You’ve got a third bedroom in the house, don’t you?” I ask, turning to him.
“Yeah.”
“And yet I’ve been demoted to the backyard.”
“Demoted?” he repeats, one eyebrow lifting.
“I mean, this is beautiful, and I’m very grateful,” I rush, because I am. “I’m just checking whether this is part of the Evan-Approved Safe-Distance Package.”
His jaw tightens for half a second. “It’s not that.”
“Mm.”
“I figured you might want your own space,” he says evenly. “You’re new to town and new to us. It’s a lot.”
I tilt my head slightly. “And the third bedroom wouldn’t give me the space I need?”
“That’s inside the house.”
“That’s generally how bedrooms work.”
His eyes narrow just a fraction. “Elle’s routine works better when the house stays the house.”
“And your schedule is always this predictable?” I ask. “Because I thought firefighter hours were…” I wave a hand vaguely. “Chaotic and horrifying.”
A corner of his mouth shifts. “They can be.”
