Chapter One
“You’re not a guy.”
Moira Rossi stared at the very tall, very confused-looking man in her doorway. He was huge. And she wasn’t just saying that because she barely grazed five foot one and a quarter inch—the quarter inch was very important.
She grinned, tilting her head back to stare into a pair of puzzled but beautiful hazel eyes. It wasn’t fair for a man to have eyes that dreamy. It made a woman forget what he was saying. Oh right, he’d accused her of not being a dude.
“And you’re not my deep-dish pizza, but I’ll forgive you if you brought food.”
He frowned, confusion turning his lips down into a grumpy scowl she found absolutely adorable on a man so large and seemingly intimidating. Not many people intimidated Mo. She was raised with four brothers who loved to wrestle and cared not one iota that their little sister was half their size. Despite her appearance, she could handle herself.
“I’m sorry.” He leaned back, glancing up and down the complex’s hallway. “I must have the wrong apartment.”
Poor guy. This building had identical floors right down to every doorknob. She’d gotten mixed up a time or two herself living here the past decade. This wasn’t the first time someone had come knocking only to have the wrong place. Pity. Tall, Perplexed, and Handsome would have made a great addition to her wind down night. She had been planning on chowing down on some greasy pizza and bingeing the latest season of Lucifer on Netflix. But she’d be happy to change her plans to Netflix and Chill if the gentleman at her door was so inclined.
Sadly, it appeared she’d have to settle for fantasies of Tom Ellis tonight. Mr. Wrong Door did not appear to be in a company-type mood.
“What apartment number are you looking for? Maybe I can help?”
He blew out a breath, running a large hand over the short copper-colored hair on the top of his head. A smattering of dark freckles covered his face. Like a bunch of connect the dots she had the strangest urge to trace with her tongue. She’d always had a thing for redheads. And oh boy, did she need to get laid if some rando at her front door was getting her all hot and bothered. It had been a while since her last hookup. Six months at least.
Geez. No wonder she was so hard up.
“I’m looking for apartment 118.”
He had the right place, but—
“Mo Rossi.”
Right name, too. She would think, lucky her, but based on the uncertainty marring his handsome features, she didn’t think he was a stripper gram sent by her friends. Pity.
“I’m Mo.” She stuck out her hand. “Moira Rossi, but everyone just calls me Mo.”
He stared at her offered hand but made no attempt to shake it. She watched with fascination as his expression went from confusion, to shock, to realization, and finally to frustration.
“You’re Mo. Of course you are.” His jaw clenched, and he muttered softly, “Grandma is in so much trouble. I can’t believe she pulled this on me.”
Grandma? Oh! Mo had her own crystalizing moment as everything began to click into place. The strange man at her front door, the mention of a grandma, it all made sense now. This must be August Porter, grandson of Agatha Porter, the flower supplier her wedding planning company worked with and—sadly for all hot and dirty daydreams—her new roommate. Mo might be willing to do a lot of things, but hopping in bed with someone she lived with was a no-no. Unless they were in a relationship. Which she and August weren’t. So she’d just tuck all that delicious sex appeal the man was sporting into her spank bank and move on. She’d never want to make a mess of her living situation, and she would hate doing anything that might upset Agatha.
Mo dealt mostly with the vendors at Mile High Happiness, the wedding planning company she ran with her friends, so she had a great rapport with lots of different people, but she had a special connection to Agatha. The kind old lady reminded her of her nonna, sweet and caring but not above giving you a stern talking-to when necessary. Fitting, considering the two women had been the best of friends until Nonna’s passing a few years ago.
Agatha had kind of adopted Mo as her pseudo granddaughter since Nonna’s death. She taught Mo how to crochet and press flowers for keepsakes. Agatha had even gifted Mo her own personal collection of romance novels when the print became too small for her eyes to read. Extremely grateful for a box full of happily ever afters, Mo had bought Agatha an e-reader and loaded it up with books, adjusting the letter size so her old eyes could see without straining.
Yup. Mo loved Agatha and would do just about anything for her. The sweet old woman had been having some health issues lately. The shop had just become too much for her to take care of in her advancing age, but Agatha didn’t want to sell, and Mo could respect that, but the woman needed some kind of help.
Then, out of the blue, a month ago, Mrs. Porter said she called her grandson to see if he would come out to Denver to help with her flower shop. Lucky for everyone, he agreed. The only problem had been the poor guy didn’t have a place to stay. Property went fast in the city, and rent was a nightmare. Agatha lamented she couldn’t let her grandson stay with her, but her building was a fifty-five and over complex. The man standing before Mo didn’t look a day over thirty.
Lucky for Agatha, and August, Mo was in desperate need of a roommate. Lilly moved out a few weeks ago with six months still on the lease but with Mo’s blessing. She figured finding a new roomie would be easy, but after interviewing three people who had cats—they were a no-pet building—seven different college kids who wanted to throw keggers every weekend, four creepos who asked if benefits came with the room, and one woman who claimed she was a vampire and needed absolute darkness in the apartment at all times, Mo was ready to sell an organ to cover the rent herself.
Thankfully for her organs, she didn’t need to. Agatha claimed August was quiet, polite, neat, and easy to live with. Apparently, the guy used to spend some time in the summers with her when he was a kid. It could just be the grandmother in Agatha talking up how great August was, but Mo was past beggars being choosers at this point. She needed a roomie to help with the rent, and it was either August or Elvira.
So she told Agatha to offer him the last six months of Lilly’s lease. If things worked out, hopefully he would sign up for another year with her. It was a perfect solution. She’d get help on the rent, and he’d have a roof over his head. Win-win.
Only, judging by the scowl currently marring his handsome face, August Porter did not see anything about this situation as a win. Was it because she was a woman? Seemed odd. If anyone in this position should be wary of two strangers of the opposite sex living together, it should be her. And she wasn’t. She trusted Agatha, and if the kind, elderly florist said her grandson was a stand-up guy, that was good enough for Mo. Plus she had a lock on her bedroom door and knew seven different ways to make a man cry like a baby with nothing but her knee and elbow.