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When I hang up my phone, I spot Millie running down the quiet street. She looks way too cute, dark hair and clothes slightly damp with rain—so cute that I have to remind myself that she’s the same girl who rejected me just because I’m in the Army.
Besides, with her uninterested in me, this could be the perfect housemate relationship. I’ve always believed that nothing messes up a living situation more than lust, love, or politics.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she shouts as she approaches.
I stand up. “Hey, don’t run. No rush.”
“You’re soaked.”
“It’s just washing the saltwater off me.”
She pulls out her key as I follow her to the porch. “Uh, do you mind if I run inside and just let my dog out back first?”
I hold up my hand. “No worries.”
As I wait, listening to the sound of barking and scuffling paws behind her front door, the break in the clouds reaches us, revealing a spectacular slice of the starry heavens. It was just another one of those brief downpours we get in the South, apparently.
After a minute, she opens the door and says, “All clear. Thanks for waiting.”
“Not a problem.”
“I’ll, uh, introduce you to my dog in a minute.” She glances at the duffel I’ve got on my shoulder and then guides me up a staircase. “But first, you probably want to see your room and decide if it’s a fit. You, um, said you don’t mind rustic.”
“Not at all. And I’m sure it’s a fit. I’m easy.” Especially since my only option tonight is driving home to Savannah, and I heard there’s an accident on US-80 that’s causing a back-up a mile long.
Yep, this place could be the Bates Motel and I’d still be Venmo-ing her my first month’s rent.
I follow her up a set of creaky stairs to a room that looks like it definitely wasn’t built to code. In fact, I’d bet that this entire second floor was thrown up before building codes even existed.
And it’s freaking perfect.
“Like I mentioned on the phone, it’s not much,” she says. “But there’s a little bathroom and shower over here.” She walks toward a door at the back of the room.
“Are you kidding? This is great.”
“Are you sure?”
She seems hesitant—the same way she’s seemed all week. Maybe she’s having second thoughts.
Mason texted me this morning that she called them yesterday for a referral and practically grilled them.
Maybe she’s looking for a way out of this.
I hope not.
“Yeah,” I assure her. But then the nice guy in me can’t help adding, “But are you having second thoughts?” I mean, how could I not ask? I don’t want to make her miserable all summer. Life is too short for that.
“No, no. The exact opposite, really. I don’t want to get my hopes up before you meet my dog.”
I flash her a confident smile. “All dogs love me.”
She laughs. “She’s a golden retriever. She loveseveryone. But she does have… well, a slight lack of control at her, um, advanced age.”
I shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”
“You’ve had older dogs?”
“No. But in the military, we see a lot of stuff that puts a puddle on the floor in perspective.”
