Sighing, I nod. “Yeah. He stopped by the other day to let me know he accepted an offer.”
“What about the new owner?” Mitch asks. “Are they going to keep it as a rental? Will you have to move?”
A weight settles in my stomach. I’ve known it was coming, ever since my landlord announced his plans to sell the Victorian I’ve been living in for the last two years. And as much as I don’t want to leave the cozy third-floor apartment I’ve turned into my own, I can understand Mr. Nilsson wanting to move to Colorado to be closer to his family.
“It looks like the new owner has plans to completely renovate the building,” I reply. “I get first dibs on my apartment once the renovations are done, but the rent is going to be almost double what I’m paying now.”
Mitch frowns. “So you don’t think you’ll stay?”
“No. I wish I could, but on my salary, it’s just not doable.” While I love my job as a library assistant at the Sleepy Hollow Library, my salary is pretty low. Normally, I don’t mind—I don’t travel often and my tastes are far from extravagant—but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t bummed about losing my apartment.
Mitch stares at me for a few seconds. His expression goes pensive. “I’m sorry you’re going to have to move, Pen. I know you love that place.”
“It’s okay.” I force a little smile. “I’m sure I’ll find something else just as good.”
I only just manage not to check my reflection in my wine glass to see if my nose is growing. The chance of me finding an apartment as nice as the one I have now is slim to none. Maybe in White Plains, a fifteen minute drive east of here, but not in Sleepy Hollow.
Which stinks. I’ve been living in Sleepy Hollow for the last eight years, and I love it. I love the quaint downtown and being able to walk from my apartment to meet my friends for trivia at the Hop-less Horseman or happy hour specials at Wine and Cheese. I love how Sleepy Hollow goes all out for Halloween, turning it into a month-long celebration. And I love walking the sidewalks during Christmas time, looking at the elaborately-decorated storefronts and watching the kids gather in the town park to see Santa.
IknowI could just make the drive from White Plains to here. But it’s not the same. Sleepy Hollow is home. And I don’t want to leave.
Mitch takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “So… I was thinking. What if you didn’t look for a new apartment?”
“I can’t buy a house, Mitch. I don’t have the money saved for a down payment. And I’m not going to ask my parents?—”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant… what if you moved in with me?”
“What?” I jerk in surprise. “Move in withyou?”
When he winces, I realize that probably came across as insulting, which isn’t what I intended. “Sorry,” I hurriedly add. “Not that your house isn’t nice.”
His smile is tight. “So you’re saying my house is nice, but I’m not?”
As Mitch starts to draw his hand away from mine, I clutch it tightly. “No, that’s not what I meant. At all. Of course you’re nice. I just… Move in with you? Isn’t that a little fast?”
“You could have your own bedroom,” he replies. “I wouldn’t expect you… Well. You’ve been to my house. You’ve seen how much space I have. You could take the guest room. Or my office. Or… you could take my bedroom and I could move to one of the others.”
Mitchdoeshave a lovely house—a split-level on the outskirts of town. It has three good-sized bedrooms, two newly-renovated bathrooms, a kitchen with all new appliances, a large game room in the basement, and a private back yard with a patio perfect for grilling or relaxing with a good book.
If Mitch and I were just friends, I could see myself living there.
But we’re not. We’re in this weird, ambiguous relationship that makes the whole thing alotmore complicated.
If I moved in with Mitch, we wouldn’t be roommates. We’d be a couple. Living together. Which is a whole bunch of steps ahead of where we are now.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Yes, you do,that logical voice whispers.You’re scared.
No, I’m not,I silently protest.I’m being cautious. I’ve been burned before and I’m just making sure it doesn’t happen again.
“It would solve your problem,” Mitch continues. “You wouldn’t have to scramble to find a place. You could move in whenever you want.”
“Mitch.”
“We get along great, Pen. You know we do. And I’m easy to live with. I clean up after myself, I vacuum, I run the dishwasher…”
As he talks, anxiety builds inside me. My pulse speeds. Waves of hot and cold sweep through my body.
