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The moment I step into the kitchen, memories of my childhood come rushing back. Mom and I stayed here a lot when I was growing up. The floor is an off-white ceramic tile I remember, but most everything else has been replaced. Nancy and Travis gave it a facelift a few years ago, but they didn’t change the bones of it—as Nancy says.
On the right is a U-shaped situation with a marble counter, farmhouse sink, and gas range. There’s a breakfast bar with four stools. On the other end, there is a window seat and a table. It’s one of the things I love about this kitchen. The garden boasts not only beautiful flowers but also herbs. I always thought it would be nice to plant some peppers and tomatoes.
Opening the fridge, I shake my head. My grandmother was right. Avery doesn’t keep a lot of food on hand. There’s a jug of milk, half and half, and two half-empty bottles of wine: one white and one red. I stash my perishables and open the pantry, a small cupboard next to the fridge. I blink. There are cooking things like flour and sugar, but I think those have been there for a while. I find about ten boxes of different kinds of cereal that have one thing in common: sugar.
“Jesus, is this all she’s eating?” No wonder Avery’s so argumentative and weird. She seems to be surviving on milk, sugar, and wine.
“Meow.”
I jump and look behind me. The cat’s sitting three feet behind me, watching my every move, her tail swishing back and forth. There is a look of irritation on her face.
“Sneaky little fucker, aren’t you?”
“Meow.”
“Get a grip, Meredith. I’m here for the long haul.” Then I realize I remembered her name. “Meredith! That’s your name, right?”
“Meow.”
“Did she name you after Taylor Swift’s cat?”
“Meow.”
I open my mouth to respond, then realize what I’m doing. I’m having a conversation with a cat and expecting answers. See, this is what Juniper does to me. It makes me crazy, and I do idiotic things.
Rolling my eyes, I return to putting my groceries in the pantry. I have been here less than ten minutes, and I’m waiting for answers from a cat. I don’t talk to animals. Hell, I don’t like talking to humans.
That’s what comes from spending time with a crazy person. The scary thing is that I haven’t had that much time with Avery, but maybe it has to do with how she disrupted my life. I need to be on schedule. My OCD is more about ensuring I’m on time for everything and that I don’t have any surprises.
My stomach grumbles, telling me that I need to eat. I should have stayed a little later for breakfast at my grandmother’s house, but I wanted to get here and settled early. This is a battle, and I need to make sure that Avery O’Bryan understands I won’t give up this house.
I pull out the eggs and cheese and make an egg white omelet. As I’m heating up the pan on the stove, I hear a loud thump on the floor, then a muffled exclamation which sounds very dirty. My mouth quirks up on one side.
Time to get up, princess.
I look over to comment to Meredith but realize she’s gone. I frown but ignore the feeling of abandonment—irrational because I just met the stupid cat—and get to work on my breakfast.
I hear the flurry of steps across the second floor, then down the stairs. The door to the kitchen slams open.
“What the fuck?”
I glance over my shoulder and try my best not to react. The woman is walking around with an oversized t-shirt with the logo for Camos and Cupcakes across it. It hits her mid-thigh. I’m pretty sure she’s wearing shorts under it. But maybe not.
It shouldn’t be sexy, but I can already feel my body reacting to her legs’ bare, smooth skin. I’ve seen thousands of women’s legs, which have not affected me like this. I mean, they’re legs, for God’s sake.
I need sleep.
“Hey, Howard, wake up!”
I shake my head but still feel the tell-tale signs of arousal as it courses through my body. A typical reaction to shapely, bare legs on a woman I can’t stand. And she is short, but those legs seem longer than any of the models I’ve dated. Not one of them has been under five eight.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making my breakfast.”
She looks at her phone.
“It’s eight in the morning.
