1. Marley

1

MARLEY

“ Y es, Mom, I have toilet paper,” I sigh into the phone as I slide my key into door of my new apartment, the phone slipping from between my shoulder and ear. My cat Steven yowls loudly from the carrier at my feet. “And before you ask, yes, I packed an overnight bag with plenty of underwear.”

“Marley,” she uses her exasperated voice to make me feel as if I don’t appreciate her mothering as much as I should. She’s probably right, but Lord, the woman is suffocating. I think she’d make this entire move for me if I let her down to re-lining my drawers with eighties-inspired floral contact paper. “I’m just trying to make sure this move goes as smoothly as possible. I’ve learned a thing or two from your father uprooting us every two years.”

I hold in the knee-jerk reaction to tell her that I was there too, that I helped pack. That leaving my friends every two years taught me a thing or two about moving and loneliness and how to pretend you’re okay. “I know, mom. Thank you for making sure I have a safe and easy move.”

“You’re welcome. I want pictures as soon as you have your place together, okay? And I’ll come visit just as soon as, I can get some time away from work.”

“I will mom, love you.”

“Love you too, Marley Mae.”

Letting out a breath of relief, I shove my phone in my back pocket and turn the key in the door. A flutter of butterflies takes off in my stomach. Finally , after months of searching for a place to live in Paintbrush Peak so I can start my new job at the Paintbrush Post, an apartment came open. And from the pics, it’s gorgeous.

Wide windows, polished original hardwood floors, and a downtown location over the businesses on the main street. It’s like the fairy godmother of living arrangements decided to bibbity bobbity boo me into the apartment of my dreams.

I open the door to a pristine apartment, and I can’t wipe the smile from my face. The walls are freshly painted, the windows let in a dreamy amount of light and the new backsplash the owners installed is a stormy blue that reminds me of the thunderstorm I watched roll over Paintbrush the first time I visited.

“We’re home,” I whisper to Steven as I open the door to his carrier. Unamused, he rubs his face against my hand and darts off to explore.

I squeal with teenage vigor as I walk from room to room, happy to see it’s as big as I thought and not a trick of camera angles. Two bedrooms, fully appointed kitchen, one bathroom, and closet space galore.

I can’t help myself, I do a spin as if I’m wearing a ballgown and not the oldest pair of jeans I own and a Wisconsin Badgers sweatshirt that tells the entire story of my college career through coffee stains.

Grinning, I stand at one of the windows and smile down at the bustling main street. A microbrewery called Redpoint is right across the street, and a café with the highest ratings I’ve ever seen—the Heartleaf—is just a few doors down. And all around me new restaurants and shops are popping up as this adorable town comes back to life.

And that’s why I’m here. The Paintbrush Post, a long-defunct newspaper, is trying to make a comeback and they hired me to take it into this century as Editor-in-Chief and head writer, and person in charge of pretty much everything. Did I mention it’s a very small operation and other than the owner it will be me and one other person?

Still, I’m excited to be doing what I always dreamed of instead of writing clickbait articles for questionable social media outlets, even if the pay is low and the responsibilities are high. Call me silly if you want, but I am giddy.

After snapping a few pictures of the apartment, I stuff my phone back in my pocket to head back to my car for my boxes. I have next to nothing with me but the furniture I ordered should arrive in a few days.

Until then I have an air mattress, my favorite pillow, and a lawn chair to tide me over.

Just as I put my hand on the doorknob, I hear a key and watch in horror as the knob turns in my hand.

“What the fuck?” I ask out loud, jerking the door open like a dummy instead of preparing to protect myself from a possible intruder.

The key falls to the floor with a metallic thud and my eyes snap up from their landing place to the very tall man standing in my doorway with his mouth open. Check that, a very tall, extremely handsome man standing in my doorway.

I blink a few times and take a step backwards, trying to wrap my head around what’s happening instead of simply enjoying his light brown hair, lush beard, and heart-stopping blue eyes. Is he real or am I having a high-altitude hallucination?

My enjoyment of his upsettingly symmetrical features ends when he steps into the space and speaks with a demanding tone. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

I feel my face crinkle with confusion. What kind of man walks into someone else’s place and demands information? I straighten my spine. “No, this is my apartment. I get to ask you what you are doing here.”

He shakes his head. “No, no. That’s not possible. This is my apartment.”

I let out a dry laugh, “Nice try. I signed the lease last week; I got the key this morning.” I pull it out of my pocket and dangle it in front of him. See? Mine.”

Bending over, he swipes the key off the floor and dangles it in my face. “No. Mine .”

I look at the key in his hand and frown as my stomach slips. It looks like it could be identical. Without asking, I grab it from his hand and put the two keys together. “They’re the same.”

The mystery man swipes a hand down his still gorgeous but less welcome face. “Yeah, they both opened that door. What did you think?”

“I mean the make of the key, jerk,” I say shoving his key back at him. “I was trying to see if it was a copy made at a different time.” I squeeze my eyes shut and walk in a small circle trying to wrap my brain around what’s happening.

When I stop, he’s staring at me like I’m on display at the freak show. I dismiss it easily, I’m used to that look. I think better when I move. “Did you sign a lease?”

He nods.

“For this address?”

“It’s the only apartment available within fifty miles of here,” he snaps, but in a frustrated-with-the-world way and not against me.

“Oh. I know. I’ve been waiting two months for something to come open.”

“Six for me,” he mutters.

I shake my head, feeling the dream of my beautiful apartment slip through my fingers before I can even inflate my mattress. “I don’t understand. I spoke with Mrs. Alldridge, I sent the down payment, and I signed the lease online. She never mentioned anything about another renter.”

Mystery man frowns. “You spoke to Mrs. Alldridge?”

I nod.

“I made my arrangements through Mr. Alldridge.”

My shoulders sink. “You don’t think they rented the apartment without checking with each other, do you?” Even as I say it, I know that’s exactly what happened. My dealings with Mrs. Alldridge were—interesting at best.

He blows out a breath and runs both hands through his previously immaculate hair. “I think that’s absolutely what happened.” He stretches his neck to the side and when he drops his hands, hair all tousled, I feel a pull in the center of my stomach that I shake away immediately.

“Oh my God,” I mutter, walking in circles again. “What do we do? I need this place, I just moved here. There’s literally nothing else.”

He cocks a shoulder. “Believe me, I know. But I’m not giving it up. I’ve been living with my brothers for too long as it is. If I don’t get out of there now, I’ll go to jail for murder.”

I feel my hands fly to my hips. I mean the man already has a place to stay. It doesn’t seem fair. “I don’t see how that’s a problem for me.”

He gives me a hard stare, clearly unamused. Probably because I was only mostly joking and he can sense it. “I’m going to call the Alldridges,” he announces, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.

“Good idea. Put it on speaker phone.”

He nods, and we both stare at the device in his hand as it rings on the other side. Over and over again until a painfully cheery recording clicks on.

“Thank you for calling the Alldridges. The missus and I are in Me-hi-co for the next month enjoying all the fiestas and siestas we can stand. Leave a message and we will get back to you when we return. Adios amigos!”

Mystery man and I make eye contact as my stomach sinks through my body, through my feet, and I think into the currently-being-renovated bookstore below us. Because I realize we will either have to live together for a month or fight to the death.

And I’m not leaving.