I really hoped I wouldn’t have to fight someone over it. Although I might owe them a bit of money, given they’d saved the place from ruin.
Could it be that the trust grandma set up not only paid for the taxes on it but the upkeep too? I’d have to get my lawyer to check it out.
“Come on, furball. Let’s see if we can light the stove and make ourselves some dinner.”
The can of Spam fried in a pan and served with my cheesy orange pasta was delicious. That night, I sat on the porch, listening to the crickets, while Grisou—on a harness he instantly disdained—hunted the moths fluttering to reach the outdoor light. Out in the woods, lights blinked on and off. Fireflies at play. A gentle breeze rustled, the only sound I could hear. No neighbors. No traffic. Finally, just calm and quiet, with none of the ugly.
Peace settled within me. When I heard a big splash coming from the lake, I told my anxiety to calm down. Fish couldn’t walk on land, and I’d left my monsters behind.
That night in the tiny bed with its rose-bud sheets, I slept soundly for the first time in what seemed like forever.
Until the rude awakening.
7
I’d forgotten to pull the curtains shut, and the dawn light streaked across my face, doing its best to pierce my eyelids. I felt so nice and cozy. I didn’t want to get up yet.
“Mee-uu?” A tiny questioning sound.
I grumbled, “Not yet. Give me a minute to enjoy this.”
As if my kitten would let me sleep now that he knew I was awake. He ended up purring in bed with me, his head insistently butting at my hand. I absently scratched him. Greedy little bugger. He just loved his morning snuggles. But I wanted to sleep. When he moved away, I rolled over.
Something furry tickled my nose.
“Grisou,” I complained.
His head rubbed softly against my fingers and yet somehow also still tickled my nose. My eyes popped open as I brushed at my face. Panic set in as I felt bristles against my fingers.
Rolling out of bed, I stumbled and stubbed my toe hard enough to make me cry out and blink back tears. The pain didn’t stop me from whirling around.
There it was. Sitting on my bed. Brown furred and whiskered.
A mouse!
I screamed. It squeaked. Grisou let out a sound of satisfaction and gave chase, which led to more squeaking and more screaming.
A broom was involved at one point, as was some sobbing and shrieks as my cat chased the mouse. I chased the cat and eventually got said mouse to exit the door I’d opened.
Out of breath and heart pounding, I then slammed it and stared at my cat, who sat demure as you could please, licking a paw and washing his face.
“That was terrifying,” I murmured. As was the sudden knocking at my back.
I almost peed my pants.
What the hell? I glanced at the portal. It was much too loud to be the mouse. And mice didn’t knock.
People did.
The solid door had no peephole, so I couldn’t see who stood outside, but apparently, I was about to have my first visitor. Lovely. Here I stood wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt, loose pink track pants, and I’d yet to brush my hair or teeth. I really needed a bra, too. Gravity had not been kind.
Maybe they’d go away.
There was more knocking. “Hello? I know you’re in there,” said a distinctly male voice.
How did he know? Was he spying on me? I glanced at the staircase and its collection of pictures. Had I found the person who had catalogued my life? Wait, wouldn’t that be he’d found me? Was I in danger?
Or just being paranoid?
“What do you want?” I managed to croak.
Through the door I heard him say, “I heard screaming. Is everything okay?”
Oh, dear.
I opened the door and had to look up. Even though the man stood a few feet away, he was tall. Good looking, too, with his square, clean-shaven jaw. He wore a plaid shirt tucked into snug, worn jeans. He also carried an axe, its head resting on my porch.
A lumberjack perhaps? Murderers also liked to use axes.
Gulp.
I tore my gaze from the weapon to his face. Despite the early morning hour, with dawn barely cresting, shades hid his eyes. A ballcap sat low on his head with silver-blond hair curling out from under it. What my son as a teen would have called hockey hair. Maybe I was still asleep because, in many respects, he was a fantasy come true.
“Good morning,” I said more brightly than the situation warranted, trying to forget the fact I looked like a hot mess.
“Were you the one screaming bloody murder?”
My cheeks flushed. “Um. Yeah. That was me. Not being murdered though. I had a mouse situation.”
“A mouse,” he repeated. “You shrieked as if being eviscerated.”
“It touched me,” I explained. “And then my cat chased it around the house.”
He stared at me with those dark lenses and said nothing.
“I got rid of it, though,” was my next defensive attempt.
“Killed it, you mean.” His lip curled.
I recoiled. “Of course not. I shooed it back outside where it belongs. Last I saw, it dove off the porch and headed for the woods.”
“You know it will be back.” A bald statement.
“Says who?”
“Says me. Mice don’t give up their homes that easily.”
“He’d better. Grisou is a fine hunter.” I might have lied on that score. A fine hunter would have never let a mouse into my bed in the first place.
“I take it, despite the shrill noises coming from you, that you are uninjured?” He eyed me up and down, making me realize I looked absolutely horrible.
It wasn’t just the outfit. Despite my new regime, I remained overweight. It would take more than a few months to reverse decades of damage. The running around had also left me flushed, smelling of sweat, and with my hair a wild mess of gray and muddy brown. I had no style and usually kept it tied back in a ponytail.
The more he stared, the more self-conscious I felt. I couldn’t have said why. I had no need to impress him. Nor did I care what he thought. At least I shouldn’t have cared. But then again, if I was going to meet someone at my most wretched, why did they have to be so damned good looking?
The fact I noticed no longer came as a shock. Since I’d split with Martin, I’d begun looking at men differently. Sizing them up. Wondering what kind of people they were. What hid under their clothes.
To my surprise, my libido woke. Not that I did anything about it. Masturbation embarrassed me. Stupid, I know. People did it all the time. Doctors recommended it, but I couldn’t shake the sensation that someone watched me whenever I put a hand down my pants.
One thing was for sure. The man in front of me would never want to watch. He probably dated supermodels. A petty and stupid thought and still I couldn’t help but feel bitter. I’d never date. I’d probably die alone. A divorcee with a lot of cats who loved me.
I realized I couldn’t stand in front of the guy slack jawed all day. “Thanks for coming to check on me, but as you can see, I’m fine, if embarrassed.” I would have closed the door, but he stepped forward.
“I’m Jace, your neighbor.” He glanced to the side, and through the trees, barely visible, I spotted a yellow cottage.
“Naomi.” I didn’t give him a last name because I’d yet to change it, but I’d begun the paperwork to take back my maiden name, Rousseaux. Automatically, I held out my hand.