Across the road, leaning against the porch post of a dark craftsman-style house with his arms crossed and a coffee mug in one hand, was the most absurdly attractive man I had ever seen in my entire life. He was very tall, with dark curly hair that fell across his forehead like he had no particular feelings about it either way. His broad shoulders filled out a plain black shirt with the kind of effortlessness that should have been illegal. Even from across the street, his eyes caught the light in a way that made me think of amber, of something warm and burning underneath.
He was staring at me like I had personally inconvenienced him by existing.
I straightened up and gave a holler. "Can I help you?"
He didn't move. "You bought that house?"
I felt my eyebrow raise, “Yes?"
Nosey ass…
He fired off another question gruffly, “Why?"
I blinked, then laughed, because what else was there to do with a question like that. "Because I enjoy making questionable financial decisions."
He looked at the house and then back to me, before sipping his coffee, "Apparently."
Whatever, grumpy ass, I thought before shaking my head, grabbing my book and heading inside.
Twenty minutes later,Mr. Tall Dark and Fine as Fuck in a T-shirt walked over. I was on the porch with a second load of boxes when I heard footsteps on the gravel and looked up to find him crossing the street with the unhurried confidence of someone who had never been in a rush in his life. He stopped at the edge of my driveway and looked at the house the way a doctor looks at an x-ray. Their way he stared was almost as if he could see something no one else could.
He stared at me before speaking, “You should have bought literally any other house."
I set down the box I was holding. "I'm sorry?"
He shrugged, “In town. There are other houses. Available ones."
I bit at my lip, starring at his fine ass. “I’m aware of how real estate works."
"Then why this one?"
"Because I liked it." I crossed my arms. "Also, and I really want to stress this, I have already signed the paperwork."
He mirrored my movement and crossed his arms as well. “It isn't too late."
I smiled sweetly, “It’s absolutely too late. I own this house. My name is on the deed." I pointed at the front door. "That is legally my door."
He looked at the door before his gaze drifted back to my own. Something moved across his expression that I couldn't read.
"Unfortunate," he said.
Then he turned around and walked his fine ass back across the street.
I stood on my porch and watched him go, because there was nothing else to do. He was, I decided, extremely hot. He was also, without any question, completely unhinged.
By seven o'clock I had unpacked enough to find my coffee maker, my favorite mug, and my fuzzy socks, which meant the house was essentially livable.
I made myself a cup of coffee and stood in the middle of the living room, looking around at the stacked boxes and the bare walls and the dust still settling in the corners. I felt something so big and warm and terrifying rise up in my chest that I had to take a slow breath to keep it from turning into actual crying.
I had done it.
I had actually done it.
The floorboard near the kitchen doorway groaned under no visible weight and I looked over my shoulder and found nothing there. Just the empty hallway and the late evening light coming through the window at the end of it.
"Old house," I reminded myself, taking a sip of coffee. "Old floors."
I turned back to the living room.
