Page 13 of Mortgage of Convenience

“And I keep telling you to stop. It’s no different from having a roommate.” A roommate I think is incredibly sexy, but that’s a problem for future me. “We won’t even see each other much.”

Aiden doesn’t understand. Though he’s never moved away from Elmsford, he could fit in anywhere. Moving to Chance was my attempt to finally find somewhere Ibelonged. It wasn’t perfect, but I found freedom in being on my own, one that I’d desperately needed, even if I still felt incredibly lonely.

One day, I want to find my place. Carve out a life where I’m happy and wholly myself (whoever that is). But I can’t think about that right now. I came home with a different goal, and once it’s done, maybe I can find what I’ve been searching for.

4

BEE

When I imaginedone day having my own place, it was as a “far-off possibility” (alternate title of my autobiography). Instead, I set my heart on smaller, more attainable goals. Pay rent. Eat. Read.

Life essentials.

The house—1105 Alexia Place—is cozy. The entire block is, in fact. As a person of smaller stature (at least compared to Sebastian), I can appreciate a littlelittlein life. If I am going to shrink in my elder years like Nana has, I kinda need to.

Anyway, is there such a thing astoo cozy?

The front porch is small but nicely finished, one of the few touch-ups the previous owner finished before selling, Sebastian tells me. There’s just enough room for a couple of chairs. It’ll be a great spot to enjoy summer nights.

Inside, the house stretches back rather than wide. The rooms are little boxes in a row, all connected by a single hallway. Bedrooms on the left, common areas on the right.The color choices are eclectic. It’s a pastel lover’s dream (a.k.a. me), but I’d bet none of it is the original shade.

On the plus side, we have heat and water. Small mercies.

Walking through the quiet house fills me with the same mix of fear and adrenaline I had when I moved away, sitting on the tarmac with little more than a suitcase and an unerring need to leave, to walk my own path, not knowing what would come next.

Here we go again.

Aiden’s car stutters before coming to life. Crashing this car would be doing it a favor, honestly, but I did manage to Tetris a dresser and side table in the back, so it’s earned my gratitude.

In the five years since I moved, I haven’t accumulated much. A lot of my original things were boxed up and put in storage after Mom and Dad moved to look after grandpa. As a result, my entire life fits in two extra-large suitcases and a half dozen boxes that Aiden fished out of storage.

Right now, it looks like I’m squatting rather than moving in, but that’s okay. The clock is ticking, and it’ll be easier to leave this way.

Not to mention I just drained 99 percent of my savings. I’d like to say it’s the scariest decision I’ve made recently, but a certain email that haunts my dreams still has the top spot.

Sorry, house.

What’s left of my last paycheck will get me through the next couple of months. In the meantime, I need to edit the damn book without succumbing to impostor syndrome or throwing the entire thing out.

If I manage to survive that, I still need to work up the courage to actually submit it. But now I have Sebastian’s promise to help, so maybe it isn’t as impossible as I’ve been telling myself.

Not that we actually defined the terms of whatever it is he’s going to help me with. We were too busy addressing the legal aspect of purchasing the house—and holy crap, was it intense. I’ve signed nondisclosure agreements with fewer terms.

Most of Sebastian’s things have been moved in already, not that he had much either. For a man who has lived in the same town for most of his life, he owns surprisingly little. Beyond what’s in his bedroom (which I can’t stop thinking about and am too chicken to enter), there are only a handful of kitchen items and a gray two-seater couch. If I find out it used to be black, I’m not sitting on it.

As small as our house is—Our house;I haven’t thought of it like that before—it feels bare.

It’s an effort to bring both pieces of furniture inside, and afterward, my legs are dotted with bruises as though I’ve gone twenty rounds with an army of Oompa Loompas. But whatever. I have furniture now. The mishmash of secondhand decor really brings out the chipped paint and sun-bleached drapes.

I have half a mind to cover up, but I’m hot and tired after moving, so when I hear Sebastian’s truck in the driveway, I look down at my sleep shorts and shrug. We’reofficially roommates now, so keeping any air of mystery over my appearance is a lost hope. He might as well get used to seeing me like this.

“Fuck, Bee. Your legs.” The door closes, and then he’s rushing over with his hands outstretched and pulling back just before he reaches me. The aborted touch sends goose bumps across my skin. “Who the hell did this to you?”

I’ve never seen him this cross before, and even though the culprit is only a cheap piece of chipboard, the force of his rage is kind of working for me.

“It’s all right.”

“The hell it is.” His eyes are fierce. As green as the trees lining Main Street, bright with spring leaves. Holy shit, he looks like he wants to fight for my honor. I officially rescind every comment I’ve ever made against damsels.

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