“She’s harmless.”
“She was draped across my car like a decoration.” The words come out sharper than I intend, and I immediately wish I could take them back. Why do I even care? River can have dinner with whoever he wants. It’s none of my business.
Except the thought of him sitting across from Shelly at some fancy seafood restaurant, her laughing and touching his arm while he smiles at her, makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest.
River chuckles, and the sound is warm and genuine. “I didn’t realize it bothered you that much.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” I turn into the parking lot behind the bookstore, maybe a little faster than necessary. “I just think it’s rude to ignore someone sitting right there. Basic manners, you know?”
“Basic manners,” he repeats, and I can tell he’s trying not to smile. “Right.”
I park the car and kill the engine, grateful for the distraction of the apartment viewing. The bookstore is a charming two-story brick building with a bright blue door and window boxes full of flowers. Above it, I can see windows that must belong to the studio apartment.
My apartment. Maybe. Hopefully.
The nervous excitement returns, pushing thoughts of blonde, flirty neighbors out of my mind. This is what matters. Not River’s social life or who wants to take him to dinner. This apartment could be my fresh start.
River and I get out of the car, and a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and graying hair approaches us from the bookstore’s back entrance. She’s wearing a cardigan despite the warm weather, and she’s carrying a clipboard.
“You must be Kiera,” she says, extending her hand. “I’m Martha Sullivan. I own the bookstore and the apartment upstairs.”
“Hi.” I shake her hand, trying to project confidence I don’t entirely feel. “Thanks for letting me view the apartment. This is my friend River. I hope it’s okay that I brought someone along.”
“Of course!” Martha smiles at River. “It’s always good to have a second opinion. Let me show you up.”
She leads us to a side door and up a narrow staircase. The steps are worn but solid, and the stairwell smells like fresh paint. At the top, Martha unlocks a door and gestures us inside.
The apartment is small but it’s flooded with afternoon light from two large windows that face Main Street. The main room serves as a combined living space and bedroom, with a kitchenette along one wall and a doorway that presumably leads to the bathroom.
“It’s a studio, as you can see,” Martha explains, moving into the space. “About four hundred square feet total. The kitchenette has a small oven, two-burner stove, and a mini fridge. Bathroom is through there.” She points to the doorway. “Utilities are included except for electricity, which runs about forty dollars a month.”
I walk toward the windows, taking in the view of Main Street below. I can see the coffee shop across the street, the harbor in the distance. It’s exactly the kind of view I imagined when I pictured having my own place.
River moves around the apartment with purpose, and I watch as he starts asking questions I wouldn’t have thought to ask.
“What’s the heating situation?” he says, examining the baseboard heaters.
“Electric heat,” Martha replies. “The building is well-insulated, so it doesn’t cost too much to heat in winter.”
River nods and continues his inspection. He opens the oven, checks the water pressure in the bathroom sink, examines the window locks, and even tests the floorboards for creaks.
“Has the apartment been inspected recently?” he asks. “Any issues with the roof or plumbing?”
“The whole building was inspected last year,” Martha says. “Everything passed with flying colors. The roof is only five years old, and I had the plumbing updated three years ago.”
River peers into the tiny closet, then checks behind the refrigerator. “What about the lease terms? Month-to-month or annual?”
“I prefer annual leases, but I can be flexible for the right tenant.” Martha glances at me with a warm smile. “Kiera’s references from the bakery were excellent. Levi Barrett speaks very highly of her.”
My cheeks warm at the compliment. Levi really did that for me? Put in a good word?
River continues his methodical inspection, testing the locks on the windows, checking for signs of water damage on the ceiling, even looking under the kitchen sink for any pipe issues. I’m grateful I asked him to come—I would have just looked at the space and thought it seemed nice without catching any of the details he’s noticing.
“The hot water heater is shared with the bookstore downstairs,” Martha explains as River examines something near the bathroom. “But the bookstore doesn’t use a lot of hot water so you’ll never run out during a shower.”
After about fifteen minutes of River’s thorough inspection, Martha excuses herself to answer a phone call and heads back downstairs, leaving us alone in the apartment.
I immediately turn to River. “So? What do you think? Is it a disaster? Should I run screaming?”
