Introduction
Imogene
Growing up in a sheltered cabin in rural Alaska shielded me from the fact that there was something off about the way my parents raised me. “Imprisoned me because of my freakish looks” might be a better description. After years of begging and restlessness, they finally let me take some online college courses, and I began to see that I needed to escape, even if I had no money, no skills, no friends, and nowhere to go.
I’ll do whatever it takes—even take my chances at a job as a stranger’s “wife” thousands of miles away so my parents can’t find me...
I never expected to fall in love with my boss and his baby.
Artie
I never intended to be a father at twenty-four, but there you have it. When I found a tiny baby with horn-like growths on her head and little hooves where her feet should be, I freaked out! I knew I was too young and inexperienced to be a parent, but all I could picture was her ending up with people who experimented on her or put her in some kind of creepy freak show.
But good intentions and a boatful of love for my miracle girl are not enough. I can’t work from home full-time and be a full-time parent. With little money and less family, I don’t know where I can get help without risking Laurel’s life. After two days without sleep and almost losing my job after a major mistake, I cracked. I put up a “Wife Wanted” ad on a sketchy job-seeking site. I can offer room, board, respect, kindness, her own room, and good health insurance—all she has to do is let me work andpromise to help me protect Laurel. In a year or two, when things are better, we can split up in a nice, friendly way, no harm done.
Except that Imogene is perfect for Laurelandme. When I discover the truth about her odd appearance and the bond she and Laurel share, it makes me want her even more. Can I convince her that our sham marriage has turned into true love?
Chapter One: October Third
October 3rd, 2025
Pine Ridge, New York
“That’s the rent?”
“That’s the rent. Plus, you pay the utilities, sewer, trash...”
“I’ll take it. Thanks, Mr. Wickstaff.”
Mr. Wickstaff intimidates the shit out of me, but the sparsely furnished townhouse he’s offering is in a super nice place, in a pretty little town.
Better than any place I ever grew up in.
Maybe the huge dude with a thick accent—Scottish, I think—knows that when I look around this place, I’m seeing the kind of home I wish I’d had, because he coughs and says, “It’s a year-long lease, ironclad. You break it, and you’re on the line for the rest of the year’s rents—but if you’re a good tenant, my wife and I are willing to offer this place as a lease to buy after the second year. We love this town. We’re part owners in the local coffee shop. My wife’s parents and brother live here. Our first bairn is due early in the new year, and our first niece or nephew sometime in the summer.”
Bairn. Yep, definitely Scottish.
“Well, I’m a good tenant, you’ll see. Quiet. Work from home. No wild parties. I mean... Look at me.” For once, my scrawny, nerdy, blind-without-my-glasses self is just what the landlord ordered.
Mr. Wickstaff grunts and shoves papers into my hand. “Sign. First and last month upfront, security deposit is half that again.”
I swallow and nod. Well... That’s all the money I have in the world, but I don’t need to dress up to code for MenuGenius, the largest online restaurant ordering platform in the world. I don’t need any new furniture, and Mr. and Mrs. Wickstaff have left a bunch of basics behind. I can live on rice, eggs, and cereal for a few weeks. Or months.
I sign.
“Welcome to Pine Ridge, Arthur,” Mr. Wickstaff says gruffly and marches off the porch.
“You can call me Artie, everyone does...” I watch him leave. “Uh. Thank you! Bye?”
Nope. He’s back. He’s back, and he has a basket of muffins, pastries, bags of ground coffee, and what I think is an egg pie—there’s a French word for it, but I forget it. Kids on the Free Lunch program aren’t super up on fancy food names, and the coders at MenuGenius see all food items as scrolling scripts after a few months.
The basket is shoved into my chest with another grunt. “Mr. Minegold will be around sometime this week to give you the community calendar and Welcome Wagon package. Do you have a kettle?”
“A... A kettle? I have a microwave.”Whatis happening?
Mr. Wickstaff sighs, looks like he has a sudden twinge of appendicitis, and stalks back off the porch again. This time, he returns carrying a box with a bright gold ribbon on top and a shiny picture of an electric kettle in matte black finish on the front. “When people come to visit, you’ll want a kettle. It’s how we do things here.”
“Uhhh. I work odd hours. Some of the servers I’m in charge of are in Tokyo and Seoul, so I might not—”
