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Now I'm renting a fucking house here. Temporarily.

Because it's furnished.

And convenient.

And I don't have another assignment.

That's it.

Those are the reasons.

All of them.

My phone buzzes against my ear.

I pull the phone away.

An Instagram notification flashes across the screen. Callie Quinn added to her Story.

My mouth curves.

Fuck.

I'm staying.

I cut the agent off.

“How do I get you the money?”

20

ROMAN

This has nothing to do with Callie, I remind myself as I park across the street from Bramble & Bean.

I need coffee. Groceries. Clothes.

Basic shit people need when they unexpectedly rent a furnished house in Vermont instead of leaving the state like they planned.

Callie posting a Story from Bramble & Bean fifteen minutes ago is purely coincidental.

I shut off the truck.

My phone sits in the cup holder, Callie's Story still open. An iced coffee is beside her laptop. She captioned it: Running on caffeine and questionable decisions.

My mouth twitches.

That makes two of us, Chaos.

I lock my phone, climb out, and head toward the entrance, ignoring the cold air that’s settled over the town.

A bell jingles when I open the door.

Warm air hits me first, then the smell of coffee and something sweet.

I automatically scan the room… but no Callie.

Of course she isn't here. Her Story was posted fifteen minutes ago. She probably left.