She exits the apartment, closing the door behind her and leaving me all alone in my new home. And holy shit, surreal doesn’t even begin to describe the swell of emotions as I take it all in. It smells like…I don’t know. Beer? Or yeast? Maybe fresh baked bread? Yeah, that definitely makes more sense than beer.Thanks, Dad.I peek into the kitchen. A loaf of golden, crusty bread sits on the counter. My mouth waters at the sight. Did Ms. Thomas bring it as a welcome home gift or something? That’d be weird. Or maybe not? I don’t know how people in Harden Heights welcome newcomers. Leaving it where it is, I continue perusing my new place.
The kitchen connects to a small family room that barely fits a loveseat. From there, a short hallway leads to one large bedroom with two twin-sized beds on the left and one bathroom on the right. It’s decorated with blue tile and a white linoleum countertop. Next to the sink is a small make-up bag and a single yellow toothbrush. They must belong to my roommate.
I’ve never had a roommate. I’ve had an asshole father, though, and nothing can be worse than putting up with him twenty-four seven. Seriously, things can only go up from here. I don’t care if my mysterious roommate expects me to clean up after them and is up at all hours watching porn in the main room. They can’t be worse than my old man. No one can.
Which means, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I peek inside the bedroom again, convinced I’m daydreaming when the front door squeaks, and I turn toward the sound. A short, curvy brunette in a pair of blue scrubs with a nametag pinned to her front closes the door behind her. This must be June.
Her keys clatter to the ground when she realizes she isn’t alone. “Crap.” She bends down and snatches the keys from the floor. “Hi.”
Remembering my well-buried manners, I stride closer with my hand outstretched. “Hi. Sorry, if I scared you. I’m your new roommate.”
“Nice to meet you.” She takes my hand and shakes it twice. I don’t miss the way she can’t look me in the eye. “I’m, uh, I’m June.”
“Violet,” I reply. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Letting go of her hand, I add, “I assume you’re wondering why I look like I got hit by a truck?”
Her expression pinches as she looks back at me. “I didn’t want to say anything, but…are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Got in a car wreck while my dad was driving. Thankfully, we were in his car, so mine’s fine.” I tack on an awkward smile. “But I promise, I don’t usually look like shit.”
“Well, that’s good. Not that I care how you look,” she rushes out. “Just that you’re okay. Here. I have just the thing to make you feel better.”
The feel of Jagger’s lips skating across my face hits out of nowhere, but I shove it aside. Not everyone’s at-home remedies for making someone feel better is with kisses. Thank goodness.
Oblivious to my runaway-train of thoughts, June heads into the kitchen and pulls out a knife from one of the drawers. “Sourdough?”
“What?”
“I baked it before work and was daydreaming about it during my entire shift.” She places the loaf onto a cutting board and begins slicing into the crusty bread. “It’s seriously so yummy. Do you want a piece?”
“Uh.” I don’t want to tell her I’ve never tried sourdough. Wonder bread is the best I’ve ever purchased. But I feel too stupid to admit it out loud, so I say, “Sure, thanks.”
With a kind smile, June pushes the cutting board toward me, offering a freshly sliced piece for me to take. “Butter’s in the cupboard, and jam is in the fridge if you want any.”
“Oh, I’ll just…” I pick up a slice and wave it through the air, then take a small bite. My eyes bulge. As soon as the light-as-air, yeasty bread hits my taste buds, I nearly moan. “Holy crap, this is amazing.”
“I know, right?” She slathers some butter onto a slice and nibbles the edge. “My boy, Quasimodough, really knows what he’s doing.”
“Quasimodough?”
“You know, my sourdough starter?” June says. She pulls out a mason jar with white goo. “This is Quasimodough. I use him to help me make bread, crackers, cookies. Basically anything I want.” She caresses the jar like it’s a long-lost best friend. “Anywho, did you see the room?”
I nod.
“Perfect. I’ve been sleeping on the bed closest to the window, but if you want to swap, I’d be happy to?—”
“No, no, no,” I rattle off. “The one closer to the door is perfect.”
“You sure?”
I nod again. “Yeah. Positive.”
“Okay.” She takes another bite of sourdough. “But if you change your mind, I’m seriously game for whatever. I’m easy.”
She is. I can tell. Like a happy-go-lucky sunflower or something. It’s refreshing, and maybe a little confusing, but I like it. I like her. Honestly, part of me feels as if I won the lottery or something. Not that the bar was very high to begin with when it comes to my expectations of a roommate, but still. Fresh baked sourdough and someone who’s willing to compromise? Sign me up.
