He led me on a short but efficient tour. “This is the kitchen. I meal prep. Like, aggressively. That’s my room. That’s your potential room. Bathroom’s shared, but I don’t linger.”
“Good to know. So, why do you need a roommate?”
He shrugged, pulling open a cabinet to reveal an aggressively organized spice rack. “I have the extra room. Rent helps. I make decent money, but I like cutting costs. Efficiency’s kind of my thing.”
That tracked. The books on his shelf were color-codedandarranged by size.
“These shelves are cedar,” he added casually, patting one of them. “I tested seven woods. Cedar traps less scent. Most woods trap scent, so it lingers. It’s distracting.”
I gaped at him. “You tested wood?”
He nodded. “Well, yes. I had samples delivered. Smelled them under different conditions. Heat. Humidity. Rain. Cedar held up best.”
That wasn’t weird, exactly. Just very intense. But in a weirdly endearing way.
Roman asked me a few questions—how I handled noise, what my cleaning style was, whether I liked garlic (what was that about?)—and actually seemed tolikemy answers.
When he asked what I did for work, I said, “Graphic design. I work from home, mostly.”
“Good.” He nodded slowly. “That’s good.”
I wasn’t sure why, but it felt like I’d passed a test.
“Okay,” I said, glancing around. “So… the rent?”
“Fifteen hundred. Includes everything. First month due upfront.”
“How soon could I move in?”
“Tomorrow, if you sign the rental agreement now.”
He reached into a drawer and handed me a crisp document with a small binder clip and a sticky note that read “sign here” invery neat block letters. I scanned the first page. The usual jargon. Quiet hours. No pets. No shifters. Rent due on time.
Then I flipped to a separate sheet attached to the contract.
“That’s the roommate agreement. Something I added to the building’s standard contract, to make sure we’re on the same page about… err… everything.” Roman scratched his neck uncomfortably.
I hesitated with the pen in hand. My gut whispered this was too good to be true. I didn’t trust myself anymore. Not after Eric. Not after bending and breaking and contorting myself into a woman I didn’t even recognize.
But I looked around at the light, the warmth, the faint scent of cedar.
Whatever. It’s not like my decision-making track record could get any worse. And what’s the worst that could actually happen? Another emotionally unavailable man? At least I wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him. I could go to my own room and shut the damn door.
I signed without reading any of the details. I needed a place to stay, and I could be the perfect roommate. I was certainly used to being invisible.
“Well,” Roman said, taking the papers and tapping them neatly against the counter to align the edges, “guess we’re roommates now, Mags.”
Chapter 2
Maggie
Eric hadn’t gone homelast night.
He’d texted one of his short, flat lines that used to feel enigmatic but now read like cowardice.
Eric: Crashing at Rob’s so you can get the rest of your stuff, let me know when you’re out
No period. No good luck. No closure.
