“How do you even know Ellie?”
She laughs. “Went to college with her cousin. Small world. She's single, btw. Just saying.”
Heat rises to my face. “It's not like that.”
“Sure, sure. Call me tomorrow, then.”
I toss my phone onto the couch and run a hand through my hair. Great. Not even twenty-four hours in town and already there's gossip. That's exactly what I was trying to escape.
The doorbell rings, startling me out of my thoughts. For a moment, I consider pretending I'm not home, but curiosity gets the better of me. I open the door to find Ellie standing there, holding the package that had been delivered to her porch.
“Hey,” she says, a slight smile playing at her lips. “This has your name on it. Must have been left at the wrong house.”
She's wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and somehow she looks even more beautiful than earlier today. I realize I've been staring without speaking.
“Thanks,” I manage, taking the package. Our fingers brush, and I try to ignore the jolt that runs through me. “I appreciate you bringing it over.”
“No problem.” She lingers for a moment. “How's the unpacking going?”
I set the package down. “Well, I was done until this came.”
Ellie glances past me into the house. “Need any help? I'm pretty good at organizing.”
Every instinct tells me to politely decline, to maintain distance, to stick to my plan. But what comes out of my mouth is entirely different.
“Actually,” I hear myself say, “I could use the help.”
As she steps inside, I can't help but wonder if Lawson Ridge is going to be the fresh start I planned—or something else entirely.
“I don’t have much yet. Didn’t bring much with me from Houston. Starting fresh.” I didn’t plan on having company so soon - especially not her.
Ellie steps inside, glancing around with interest instead of judgement. “When I moved into the house, it took me three weeks to find my coffee maker.”
The easy way she laughs makes something loosen in my chest. I close the door behind her, trying to ignore how different the house feels with her presence.
I only have this one big box - which honestly I’m surprised she brought it over. It’s like sixty pounds. “It’s mostly kitchen stuff.”
So I take the box into the kitchen and we both unpack and arrange everything in their respective places. She tells me about the town - which places are worth trying and which to avoid.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Born and raised, except for college.” She arranges glasses on a shelf. “Left for a few years.”
“What brought you back?”
Her movements pause. “Family stuff. My dad got sick. He’s better now, but by the time he recovered, I remembered the things I love about this town.”
I nod, recognizing something in her voice—the pull of home, even when you've convinced yourself you've outgrown it.
“What about you?” she asks. “What brings you to Lawson Ridge?”
The question I've been dreading. I focus intently on unwrapping another plate. “Just needed a change.”
It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.
“So, you’re running from something? Not judging. We’ve all got our stuff.”
How is she able to read me like that? “That obvious, huh?”
