ELODIE
Why hadI opened my big mouth?
I sat up on the thin, sagging mattress and rubbed my temples as the slow, insistent plinkof water echoed through the dark, empty cottage. The storm had rolled in fast last night, thick clouds swallowing the sky, and I had spent every minute of it lying awake, staring at the small leak in the ceiling.
Each drop landed in the metal mixing bowl I’d found in one of the cabinets—pinging like an incessant clock, counting down the minutes of my sleepless night.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I sighed, tossing back the thin blanket. My eyelids felt like sandpaper, my limbs heavy from exhaustion, but I couldn’t sit in this critter-filled dungeon a second longer.
The morning wind howled as I stepped onto the front porch, wrapping my arms around myself. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, petrichor, and pine. The storm had passed, leaving behind a washed-clean sky, the first pale streaks of sunrise peeking over the tree line to the east.
And then I saw it.
A small, beat-up box of Band-Aids perched on the porch railing.
I didn’t have Band-Aids, but I had scraped my elbow last night in my highly dramatic collision with Star Harbor’s resident asshole, and now, conveniently, a box had appeared overnight.
The storm must have blown them here—or, more likely, the storm in human form next door had dropped them off and didn’t want to admit it.
At first I had thought the man was an intruder and I was ready to defend myself, teeth bared and claws out. Instead, I had been met with rich brown eyes, dark hair, and tattoos that seeped onto thick, muscled forearms. A few even leaked onto the backs of his hands and knuckles. He had scars,lotsof them—trailing up his arm and disappearing beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt.
My stomach flipped at the memory of how my fear had morphed into instant intrigue. He was pure contradiction—dark eyes that saw too much, hands that looked like they’d built a thousand things but also ruined them, a voice that was both gravel and silk.
And then he had to open his mouth and ruin the illusion. He was irritable, and for some reason his clipped, annoyed tone was aimed directly at me.
As if simply existing was some heinous crime.
Shaking my head, I pushed off the railing and took in the wreckage around me. The cottage was in rough shape. The wood-planked walls were weathered and warped from years of neglect. The flower beds were completely overrun, thick vines and early-summer blooms bursting through the mess like nature was reclaiming what was once hers.
Still, it could be beautiful again, and apparently I hadnothing but time to kill. Cleaning the dilapidated cottage was first on the list.
Hours later, I hadn’t made much progress on cleaning up the house. I tied my hair into a messy bun, exhaling as I wiped down the grimy kitchen counter. My arms ached from hours of scrubbing, my hands raw from scouring layers of caked-on dirt off the bathroom floor, but I had officially declared war on this house. If I was going to live in a literal horror movie set, the least I could do was not get tetanus while doing it.
I straightened, stretching my sore back, and caught movement out the front window, then grinned as Stan came into view.
I walked to the door and opened it for him with a smile.
He walked toward the porch, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes skimming the cottage like he was assessing whether it was still standing.
“Morning, Miss Elodie,” he called, climbing the steps and stepping inside. “You survived the storm, then?”
“Survivedis a strong word,” I muttered, waving a hand toward the dark stain on the ceiling. “Your haunted shack here has a built-in rain feature.”
“Sorry about that.” Stan chuckled, leaning against the railing. “Could be worse. Could have fallen straight through the floorboards in your sleep.”
I leveled him with a look. “Comforting. Thank you.”
His grin deepened, but his gaze drifted toward the farmhouse in the distance, his expression going thoughtful.
“Are you planning to take a break from all this?” He gestured toward my cleaning supplies, his lips twitching.
I wiped sweat from my brow, following his gaze to the rolling acres of land stretching toward the farm property. “Maybe. Thought I’d walk around a little today.”
Stan nodded approvingly. “Good idea. Helps to see what you’re working with.” He hesitated, then added, “I know this place is in rough shape. If you’re looking for another project, I’d be happy to front the money for supplies to fix it up.”
I thought about his offer. Sure, I had a little savings, but it certainly wasn’t enough to live offandfix up a house that wasn’t even technically mine. Day to day would be a whole lot easier if I wasn’t worried about uninvited houseguests, like raccoons or annoyingly handsome neighbors.
