Page 12 of Your Place or Mine

“Duly noted.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a minute, both of us scanning the room with fresh eyes. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine for now.

Melanie finally sat up and clapped her hands. “All right. We’ve moved in, you’ve given me a historic tour of the wallpaper, and I’ve assigned names to every creak in the floorboards. I say we celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” I asked, eyebrow raised.

She pointed out the window with a sly grin. “With drinks. At the local watering hole.”

I hesitated. “You mean… the bar?”

“Yes, Lydia. Thebar.The only one in town. The one with the very attractive man who saved me from death by leopard-print suitcase.”

“You’re already writing your vows, aren’t you?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to either a handwritten sonnet or just showing up in a white dress and letting fate do its thing.”

I snorted. “You don’t even know his name.”

She grabbed her purse and headed toward the door. “Exactly. Which means tonight is our origin story.”

I followed her, grabbing my coat off the back of the chair. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m resourceful. And thirsty.”

I laughed as we made our way down the stairs, the cool air brushing against my cheeks as we stepped into the evening.

“This is either going to be a great night,” I said, “or a disaster.”

Melanie grinned, already walking ahead. “That’s how all the best stories start.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “You know, it was fate that he was there to save me from my suitcase.”

I chuckled. “You always had a flair for the dramatics.”

“Honestly, I hope I run into that guy again tonight.”

My brow lifted, and I laughed. “And what? Come back to my apartment and bang it out on the couch while I’m in bed? I don’t think so.”

She snickered as we walked through an alley leading to the sidewalk on the main road.

Reckless River looked even better in the golden hour.

Melanie and I walked side by side down Main Street, our steps slow and unhurried as the town glowed in the soft light of early evening. String lights twinkled above the café patio. The bookstore’s door was propped open, the scent of paper and vanilla drifting onto the sidewalk. A kid rode by on a banana-seat bike, barefoot and laughing. It felt like something out of a storybook.

“I’m still convinced this town might be fake,” Melanie said, slowly looking around. “Do we even know it’s on the map?”

I smiled, hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket. “Ihopeit’s not. I think that’s kind of the point.”

I glanced next to us and smiled at the brick building I’d purchased. I still wasn’t used to calling itmine. The brick had faded over the years, giving it that soft, weather-worn charm only time could create.

It wasn’t fancy. Not polished. But it had character. Five storefronts stretched along the bottom, my future project, and three apartments above, including the one I’d just moved into.

“I still can’t believe you bought the whole thing,” Melanie said, following my gaze.

“Me either.” I exhaled slowly, my breath catching a little in my chest. “Some days it feels brilliant. Other days… like I just set fire to a stack of money and walked away whistling.”

Melanie bumped her shoulder against mine. “You didn’t set anything on fire. You leaped. You believed in something. That’s more than most people do.”

I nodded, letting the words sink in as we walked along the edge of the building. I ran my fingers over the bricks, grounding myself in their feel.

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