Page 49 of Your Place or Mine

If he thought he was going to intimidate me into tiptoeing around this building like a timid little landlord, he had another thing coming. I wasn’t going to back down or soften my ideas just because a man with a beard and commitment issues didn’t like change.

This wasn’t a dating game. This was my business.

And he was going to see exactly what I was made of.

I didn’t come here to get rolled over by a man with a bad attitude and a few pretty tattoos.

I came here to build something. For myself. For my mom. For the version of me that sat on the edge of her twin-sized bed in a one-bedroom apartment and dared to dream of more.

This building was mine now.

And if Callum Benedict needed a reminder of that, I was more than happy to give it to him.

With polite professionalism, of course.

And maybe a little flair.

I picked up my notebook from the counter, flipped it open to the maintenance schedule, and jotted down a few notes with a new purpose.

Get quotes for the ceiling tiles

Replace the sparking outlet

Buy paint samples for the shared hallway

Be unshakably kind to Callum until it drives himcompletelynuts

That last one might’ve been more of a personal goal than a structural improvement, but morale mattered.

Riley left the back room, wiping her hands on a rag. “You good?”

I looked up, smiling. “Better than good. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh boy,” she said, grinning. “Does this plan involve renovations or revenge?”

“A little of both.”

She laughed and raised her coffee cup in a toast. “That’s the spirit.”

As she turned to serve a new customer, I looked out the shop window and spotted Callum walking along the sidewalk toward his bar, keys in hand, head down like he was already mentally cursing the day.

A flicker of amusement sparked in my chest.

It wasn’t that I wanted to antagonize him.

Okay, maybe I did.

A little.

But mostly, I wanted to prove that I belonged here. That I wasn’t the enemy. That I wasn’t afraid of him, or his bad mood, or the shadow of whatever legacy he thought he was protecting.

Let him stomp around and growl.

Let him roll his eyes and mutter about city people and Instagram aesthetics.

I’d still be here. With my notebook. My hammer. And maybe a fresh coat of paint that didn’t match anything but feltexactlyright.

Let’s see who really ran this block.

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