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I roll my eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The guys start unloading the truck, hauling my overstuffed suitcases toward the house. I should be helping, but instead, I linger outside, gravitating toward the only living being here that doesn’t immediately test my patience—the dog.

The black lab trots over, sniffing at my shoes before pressing his whole weight against my legs, like he’s decided we’re best friends. I crouch down, scratching behind his ears. “At least you seem happy to have me here.”

“That’s Granger.” Wells said in passing as he carried one of my suitcases inside.

Granger let out a satisfied huff and flopped onto the grass, rolling onto his back for belly rubs. I oblige, because honestly? This is better than standing around, making awkward conversation with Wells while he drags my possessions inside.

The sun is warm on my skin, the quiet stretch of land around me open and endless. It should be peaceful. But instead, my chest feels tight, like I’m standing at the edge of something I can’t quite name.

A door creaks open behind me.

“You plan on helping?”

I glance over my shoulder to find Wells leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed, smirking.

I pat Granger’s belly one last time and rise to my feet. “Pretty sure you and Charlie have it handled.”

Wells shakes his head, but there’s something almost amused in his expression. “Come on, Sunshine. Let’s get you settled.”

With a sigh, I follow him inside, already counting down the days until I can leave.

The house is way nicer than I had expected. Not that I had any preconceived notions or anything like that, but Wells struck me as the type of guy whose house wasn’t the neatest. Man, was he going to regret having me here. My parents always joked that I was a cyclone, making a mess in every room I went into. Which, judging by my college dorm, they weren’t wrong.

The inside of the farmhouse is the perfect blend of modern simplicity and rustic charm. The walls are painted in a soft, pale gray that catches the natural light filtering through the large windows, giving the space an open and airy feel. The ceilings are high, with exposed wooden beams that add just the right amount of warmth against the cool-toned walls.

The kitchen is sleek but inviting—white shaker-style cabinets line the walls, their crisp finish contrasting against the rich, dark oak floors. Butcher block countertops stretch across the counters, their smooth, honeyed wood grain showing years of careful maintenance. A farmhouse sink sits beneath a window that overlooks the vast pastures, and open shelving displays neatly stacked dishes and glass jars filled with dry goods.

In the living area, a stone fireplace is the focal point, its gray and white tones blending seamlessly with the rest of the house. A worn dark leather couch faces it. The dark oak floors ground the space, their deep, weathered hues adding contrast to the light walls and cabinets.

The entire house carries the scent of fresh wood and coffee, a mix of earthy and comforting.

With this level of attention to detail, it was clear this was the work of a woman’s touch—not Wells’ doing. I could see why Wren enjoyed it here—it was undeniably homey.

This place was almost cozier than Blythe and Charlie’s…not that I would ever tell them that.

Charlie spoke up after we returned to the kitchen from our little tour of the first floor. “I’m gonna head out.” He looked at me. “You good?”

I nodded slowly, my eyes falling. No matter how nice this place was, it wasn’t my home—it would never be my home—and that stung.

Not to mention I was going to have to live with my sworn mortal enemy. Maybe that was a bit of an overstatement.

Charlie left and the tension in the room was palpable.

“So…” Wells shoved his hands in his front pockets. “I can show you to your room.” It was a statement but it came out more like a question.

My eyes didn’t meet his. “That’d be great.”

Wells started up the stairs and I followed closely behind while Granger wove in between us to get to the top first.

“Your room’s across the hall from mine,” Wells said as he pushed open the door to a guest room.

It’s simple—plain furniture, fresh sheets, a window overlooking the pastures. It doesn’t feel like mine. Because it isn’t.

I set my bag on the bed, glancing toward the hall.

Across from his. Yeah, this won’t work.