“Absolutely not,” I say. “No.”
“Hmm,” she says. “You had that answer all ready to go. Are you sure? I bet we’d be cute together. You’re positive you don’t want to date me?”
“I’m positive,” I say dryly, sitting on the hood of her car.
“Because you’re missing a real opportunity here,” she goes on as though I haven’t spoken. “Our couple name would be Aidiper.”
“Why Aidiper?” I say, cocking one brow at her. “Why not Junipaide?”
“BecauseJunipaidesounds like the kind of all-purpose cleaning solution they use in nursing homes.” Her answer is immediate and matter-of-fact, like she’s given this a lot of thought already. “Do you want our legacy to sound like a cleaning solution, Aiden?”
I sigh. I’m almost positive she’s teasing right now, based on the mischievous smile and the laughing eyes. But my head is pounding at previously undiscovered levels of pain, and I’m very certain this woman is the cause. In fact, I would bet that something deep in my bones could sense her presence in town before I even knew she was here, andthat’swhy this headache has been brewing like a storm.
Yes. That sounds scientifically plausible.
“We can’t live together,” I say, trying to be patient. “I was yourtutor,Juniper.”
She snorts. “That was years ago, and it doesn’t mean anything. More to the point,” she goes on, narrowing her eyes, “I already signed the contract.The landlady?—”
“My sister.”
“Oh, your sister? Well, she was very nice,” she says with a shrug. “I told her I didn’t care if the current tenant was male or female just as long as he or she wasn’t psycho or anything. Hey, get off my car,” she adds suddenly, gesturing to where I’m half sitting, half leaning against the hood of her VW Beetle. “You’re going to break it again.”
I stand up slowly, turning and looking down at the ground where the bumper still lies on the pavement. “So this is the piece of junk you trust on the highway, huh?” I say, looking it over again.
Juniper rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “Might want to get off that high horse before you fall and break something.”
“I think my high horse might be the safer option,” I say, still eyeing the car skeptically.
“Could you reliably live out of your high horse for the better part of a week?” she says, pointing to the back of her car. I walk around the passenger side and lean down, cupping my hand over my eyes and peering into the backseat.
Sure enough, it has all the signs of having been a temporary home—a pillow, a freezer bag of toiletries, a neatly folded blanket.
Good grief. She’s been living out of her car. How am I supposed to tell her no? She must have had to cram herself in that little space. Besides, as much as I don’t like it, she’s right; she already signed the contract.
I rub my chest against the twinge of guilt I feel, memories plucking at the emotion like the strings of a guitar. There’s another reason I don’t want to live with this woman, but it looks like that’s a moot point now. My breath whooshes out of me as I sigh.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s go, I guess. But I have some conditions.”
Juniper nods, standing up straighter and looking suddenly serious. “Shoot.”
Huh. That was easier than I expected.
“Why do you look so surprised?” she says to me, and I start. “I’m not unreasonable. If we’re going to live together, it makes perfect sense that we both lay down and abide by some rules.”
“Rule number one,” I say. “We’re not going to be romantically involved.”
“With anyone, or with each other?” she asks, her lips curving into a little smile.
“Each other,” I say. “But also,” I hurry to add, “any—uh—privateactivities between you and another party should remain…well, private.”
“Is that code forDon’t make out with someone in the middle of the living room?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “Second rule: quiet hours are between ten in the evening and eight in the morning.”
She nods. “Agreed.”
“Third rule?—”
