IS SHE INSANE?
I scroll. And scroll some more.
One picture has him holding a dog—a pug named Zippy, according to the caption—but now I’m imagining our wedding. There’s a slideshow involved.
I slap my laptop closed.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I cannot live with this man.
poppy
. . .
There’s something mind-numbing about moving days that I will never get used to, no matter how times I’ve moved.
Maybe it’s the heat. Or the stress. Or the way I inevitably forget how heavy books are until I’ve packed two hundred of them into boxes labeled “Poppy’s brain fuel.”
This move is different because I’m not just hauling boxes halfway across the country—I’m hauling my entire life into a house I’ll be sharing with two men.
That’s right.
Little old me, living with two dudes.
In all my twenty-six years, I’ve never lived with a man before—platonically or otherwise. Not unless you count the summer I was a camp counselor and had to cohabitate in the same woods with a dozen other junior counselors, half of whom were male and all of whom smelled like Axe body spray.
One of them tried to impress me by eating a live cricket.
So no. I wouldn’t say I’m exactlypreparedfor this.
I mean, I’ve read enough romance novels to know that moving in with hot guys usually ends with someone catchingfeelings, or one roommate walking in on another wearing nothing but a bath towel.
Which would be fine if this weren’t my actual life, and not a romance novel, and I didn’t have a chronic case of foot-in-mouth syndrome and a lifelong fear of accidentally walking in on someone peeing.
Which, statistically, feels imminent.
Sigh.
My things arrived yesterday, via moving van, according to the tracker app and the drivers. Everything should be safely inside in my new bedroom or garage. Eek!
I pull up to the gate in my rental car, punch the code into the black keypad and give the attendant a little wave before pulling through. This community is nice. Beautiful, actually.
Winding roads.
Manicured lawns. Mature trees.
And then there it is. My new home.
The House.
Two stories of brick and siding, with a wraparound porch that looks like it belongs on the cover ofSouthern Living. There are massive planters bursting with flowers. Basketball hoop in the driveway. Rocking chairs, where two people might sit outside and relax. Watch the sunset...
It’s large.
Imposing.
