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Chapter 11

Stella

T he sound of an alarm blaring jolts me from a dead slumber. There’s no fucking chance it’s already time to wake up…right? I swear, I just checked the clock and it was one in the morning. Forcing my eyes open, I look over at the alarm that’s still blaring, even though I’ve telepathically told it to shut the fuck up at least ten times.

Although it may be early, I can’t lie in bed any longer, even though I feel like I could sleep for another six to eight hours at least. But it’s Nashville day, so it’s time to get up and head to the airport bright and early for our flight. I shower and get ready in record time, emerging from the bathroom just as the front door opens. Miles steps inside, looking like today’s hero, holding two cups of coffee that I can only assume he plans to share with me.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Miles says, holding out one of the cups for me to take.

“Good morning,” I grumble, grabbing the brewed bliss. “How are you up so early?”

“I had a hard time falling asleep last night, so I ended up going back to the living room to work on my puzzle. Next thing I knew, it was four a.m., and I figured going to bed at that point would just make me feel worse. So, I stayed up, hit the gym, and grabbed us coffee on the way back.”

“So, you’ve been up all night and you’re this chipper? Why?” I ask before I’ve even taken the first sip, the judgment thick in my tone. I may do it for a living at the bakery, but I definitely don’t like waking up before seven or eight. Sure, these last few years I haven’t been able to sleep in like I used to—always wide awake between two thirty and five in the morning—but that still doesn’t mean I like early mornings.

The moment the coffee hits my lips, the sweet nectar instantly begins to revive me, and I feel it slowly bringing me back to life.

“My dad taught me from an early age how to make my mom coffee. Said she wasn’t really my mom until she’d had her first cup. Anytime I wanted to do something on the weekend, I’d just make her a cup in the morning and then ask. Worked like a charm every time.”

“And everyone says that women are the ones who play the games,” I say with a wink as I take another sip of coffee, the velvety liquid hitting my tongue and warming me up from the inside.

“Eh, is it a game, or is it a really smart move to help ensure a successful outcome for the mission at hand? Or at least, that’s how my dad and I tried to explain it to my mom after she said something very similar when I was a kid.”

“She sounds like a smart lady.”

“She is. Maybe we’ll see her in Nashville. My parents and my grandpa live about forty-five minutes outside of the city, so there’s always a chance they’ll come out if I ask.”

“I mean, why not? We’ll have plenty of time there, and you don’t have to give all your time to me.”

“Who knows? We’ll see how it goes, depending on what we have to do for the bakery.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“You ready? I have the car parked out front with our stuff already in it. Well, your luggage, at least,” Miles says as he turns off a few lights, getting the place ready for us to leave.

“Yeah. I’ve got my purse, and you brought me coffee—thank you again for that, by the way. So yeah, I’m ready.”

“Then let’s go catch a plane.”

Ugh. Don’t remind me.

After picking up our rental car, we headed to the bakery to meet up with my realtor, Dennis. We set the appointment for two because we figured it would take forever to get out of the airport. Thankfully, it didn’t take as long as we thought to get the car, so now we’re a little early.

Since the place isn’t open, we sit on the park bench in front of the bakery to wait. Luckily, the weather is nice today, not too hot but still warm enough that I’m glad I didn’t wear a jacket. “So, remind me again what this guy told you?” Miles says as his foot bounces up and down like he’s anxious.

“My realtor? He just mentioned that he’d been informed about damage to the property, and unfortunately, it had somehow been written into the contract that if there was damage before sale, the buyer would lose out on the property.”

“How is that even legal?” Miles says, glancing to the side as he rubs the back of his neck, deep in thought.

“I doubt it is, but the more important question is…why didn’t I read it thoroughly before I signed it? I feel like an idiot. If I’d just asked for help in the first place, I wouldn’t even be in this mess. They probably would have read it all the way through and asked all the right questions, so something like this wouldn’t happen.”

“Stop it, Stella,” Miles snaps. “Stop making it seem like you did anything wrong here. You’re not the first person to sign a shitty contract, and you won’t be the last one.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I pout.

“No. But it’s reality. Shit happens. You can dwell on it and make yourself miserable, or you can put on your big-girl pants, and we can figure out what the deal is with Dennis.”

“Okay. I tried calling him a couple of times, but he hasn’t answered,” Isay, glancing down at my phone to see no missed calls or texts.

Great.

“What a jerk,” Miles says. “He even sent the confirmation for today. I remember, so what's this dude’s problem?”

“I don’t know. Ever since the damage, he's been acting weird. Less helpful and more…evasive.”

“Fuck that. Give me his number.”

“No, let's give him a bit,” I say, trying to stay calm, but my thoughts are already spiraling. “I mean, now that he’s not showing up to give us access to the building—especially the apartment upstairs that we were supposed to stay in tonight…” I pause, feeling the weight of the situation settle in. “…we sort of have to figure something out.”

“Oh fuck, I didn't even think about that,” Miles says, his voice still calm. “But that shouldn’t be a problem. Let’s just go grab a hotel.” With each passing second, my stress grows progressively worse.

“You make it sound so easy,” I say, exasperated.

“Getting a hotel? It is. I'll have one booked from my phone in the next three minutes, no problem.”

I just stare. The ease with which he makes this situation feel manageable is reassuring, but I feel like I'm one minor inconvenience away from having a full mental breakdown.

I look back down at my phone and send one more quick text to Dennis, hoping to hear that he's almost here. By the time I finish, Miles is sitting with a shit-eating grin, watching me.

“We got a hotel right off Broadway. Figured if we're going to be in the city, we might as well enjoy the whole experience and go out tonight. Unless you wanted to stay in, of course.”

Smiling, I realize I’m more excited than I thought I’d be. It's been a while since I've had a good night out, and even longer since I've had one that wasn’t in New York.

It seems like it could be fun to check out Nashville’s nightlight. Plus, who knows? Maybe I'll get another hot make-out session followed by a dry-humping orgasm to really cap off the fun night.

At least I can dream … right?

“Does that sound good?” he asks, holding his phone in one hand as he waits for my response. I can see the nervousness in his eyes, the slight apprehension as he watches me. But when I nod yes, relief instantly floods his face, and I can’t help but smile because it actually feels thrilling.

“Well, then, what do you say we head to the hotel, get checked in, and once we’re all settled, we can explore the town? I know the last time you were here, you were in high school, so you never got to experience it as an adult.”

“I say let's go. If I don't hear from Dennis by tomorrow morning, I'll give you his number and let you deal with it.”

“Lead the way, Trouble.”