But the last thing I want to do is push her. Seems like a woman’s mind is usually already made up before you even realize there’s a problem.
If Loren does change her mind, she can let me know. Otherwise, it’s time to let her go.
Loren smiles up at me from my doorway, a plate covered in aluminum foil in her hands. “So I was wondering if you could do me a teeny, tiny favor.”
From the number of boxes stacked behind her, I have a pretty good idea why she’s knocking.
Would you look at that? She brought what look like homemade chocolate chip cookies. “Let me guess. You want me to help move your stuff.”
The plate presses against my chest, and she bats her long eyelashes. “Pretty please? The trunk on my rental is shockingly small. This would really help me out.”
Damn, she works fast. It’s only been a couple of hours since I left her in the stairwell. “Where are you going?” I fish out a cookie and take a warm, gooey bite.
“I found a place on Roomer near the airport.”
Not the best part of town, but maybe this will be the exception. I stuff the rest of the cookie in my mouth, grab my keys, and help her lug box after box down the stairs. At least now I can skip the gym and not feel guilty for eating a few more cookies.
The house she found is a twenty-minute drive toward the city—which bodes well for her daily commute. But when we pull up outside the drab white craftsman, my optimism dies.
Loren parks behind me and slowly climbs out of the car. When she pushes her sunglasses onto her forehead, there’s horror in her eyes.
I jump out of my truck before she can even set foot on the cracked sidewalk. “This place is a shit hole.”
Her gaze flicks over to me before landing back on the tiny house with a sagging front porch and BEWARE OF DOG signs plastered all over the clapboard fence. “Maybe it’s better inside?”
Yeah, I can’t see that being the case. But she insists, so I take the box from her hands and follow her up the half-sunken walkway to a screen door that’s hanging off the hinges. The skunky smell of weed wafts from beneath the faded green door. Before Loren can knock—or run away—a guy with muscles rippling from beneath a ribbed white tank top answers.
Loren offers him a sweet smile. “Hi. I’m not sure if I have the right place, but I was talking to someone named Mika on Roomer and she said there’s a room for rent?”
He gives her a wolfish smile. “You have the right place, sweetheart.” Over his shoulder, he shouts, “Yo, Mike! The new roommate is here!”
Somewhere inside, a dog starts going berserk.
Another guy, even taller than the first, steps into view, jacked as shit. What hope would Loren have if either of them turn out to be complete assholes?
“Hey, girl. Come on in. Room’s down the hall.” Mike/Mika nods to the right.
Yeah, this isn’t happening. I get that Loren doesn’t want to put me out and appreciate the sentiment, but what kind of man would I be if I let her stay here?
I adjust my grip on the box, freeing my hand to take Loren’s. “If you’ll excuse us for a second.” I drag my neighbor back down the driveway until we’re out of earshot. “You’re not staying there.”
“Elliott…”
“No way in hell. I know that’s overbearing or whatever, but if you go in there, there’s a good chance you’ll never come out.”
“It wasn’t that?—”
“I swear, if you say bad, I’m going to drop this box, throw you over my shoulder, and lock you in my car.”
Tears fill her eyes. “It’s bad.”
“So bad.”
“Are youpositiveyou don’t mind?”
I’m starting to mind less and less. “I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean. If you want it, the room is?—”
She throws her arms around my neck, her soft chest pressing tightly to mine. “Thank you so much. This place is scary. I’d rather go back to Maryland than stay here.”
