Page 23

Eliza

It’s not supposed to rain today. Pine Ridge weather is notoriously unpredictable, but this afternoon was supposed to be my one dry window to get the garden in order. I glance up at the sky, and sure enough, dark clouds roll in—thick and menacing, like a cosmic joke at my expense. Thunder rumbles low in the distance, giving me maybe thirty seconds before everything outside turns into a soggy mess.

Clutching two ceramic pots of freshly repotted tomatoes, I dash up the front steps of my new house—my house. Technically, it’s a rental, but in my mind, it’s already mine. A fresh start. A chance to breathe after everything I left behind. The pots wobble dangerously as I hit the slick welcome mat, my foot sliding out from under me.

I lurch forward, barely catching myself on the doorframe.

“Oof—hey, watch it!”

The voice is deep, sharp, and annoyingly familiar. I blink up and nearly drop the pots.

Jake Preston.

His name tumbles out in my head, sharp and disbelieving, like it doesn’t belong here in my new life. In my house. The sight of him—the tousled dark hair, broad shoulders that take up far too much space—jolts me backward, almost sending the pots crashing to the ground. Of all the people in the world…

“What are you doing here?” I manage, my shock almost knocking me off balance again.

“What am I doing here?” His steel-blue eyes narrow, scanning me like I’m an intruder. “I think that’s my line. I live here.”

My stomach flips. I tighten my grip on the pots. “You don’t live here. I rented this place. My name’s on the lease.”

“No, it’s not.” His tone is flat, but his jaw tightens. He stares me down before finally adding, “When I got here, my lease was the one on file.”

The pots tilt dangerously again. Jake catches one with annoyingly quick reflexes, steadying it in my arms. For a second, I just stare at him— taller and broader than I remember from high school, looking far too comfortable in a place that’s supposed to be mine.

“Must be a mix-up with the property manager,” I mutter as the first fat raindrops start plunking down around us.

Jake huffs a breath, folding his arms across his chest. “Clearly.” He steps back, gesturing to the open door. “Well, go ahead. Bring your plants inside before they drown.”

I hesitate, but the rain’s already picking up. Muttering a quick “thanks,” I shuffle past him into the house, making an effort to stay as far from him as possible. Jake closes the door behind me with a solid thud that echoes in the empty space.

Inside, I set the pots on a side table and glance around the living room. The first thing that strikes me is the light—muted by the gloomy weather but still soft and welcoming. Big windows line the far wall, the kind that would flood the space with sunlight on a good day. The hardwood floors are scuffed but polished, and the soft gray walls are clean and simple.

It’s exactly how I remember it.

When I was younger, I used to pass this house on my way to the park, imagining myself living here someday. It felt like the kind of place that could belong to anyone, with its cheerful yellow shutters and the creak of the porch swing. A house that could be a home. My dream home.

But now, standing here with Jake Preston smirking at me from the doorway, the magic of the moment feels… complicated. Once upon a time, I had the biggest crush on him.

“What’s with the luggage?” I ask, nodding toward the duffel bags and hockey gear piled near the couch.

Jake shrugs, leaning against the doorway like he owns the place. “I’m staying here for a month while my place in the city gets remodeled.”

I blink, trying to process that. Jake Preston, Pine Ridge’s most famous hockey export, still has ties to this sleepy little town?

“Wait—you’re living here?” My voice comes out higher-pitched than I’d like, but I’m too thrown to care.

He arches an eyebrow, his smirk pure Jake. “That’s what I just said.”

“No, no, no.” I shake my head. “This is supposed to be my place. I just moved back to Pine Ridge to get away from… everything. I signed a lease. I have plans. There’s no way this house is big enough for the two of us.”

“Well,” Jake says, pulling out his phone, his posture maddeningly casual, “it looks like you and I both got some bad information from the property manager.”

The mention of Ms. Hughes makes my face heat. She’d been so reassuring when I signed the lease—her friendly smile and meticulous notes had put me at ease.

“Ms. Hughes,” I say the second she picks up the phone. “There’s been some kind of mistake. Jake Preston is here, claiming he’s renting this house.”

Ms. Hughes sighs, her voice calm and measured. “I’m so sorry about this, Eliza. It seems there was a mix-up in the system. Both you and Jake were scheduled for the same property before I caught the error.”

“Jake,” I snap, covering the phone’s mouthpiece. “Are you seriously texting right now?”

He shrugs, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Handling things.”

Back in the living room, a thought flickers through my mind, persistent and unwelcome. Max had really pushed me to take this rental—almost annoyingly so.

“It’s perfect for you, Eliza,” he’d said with that easy grin that always made everything sound like a done deal. “Quiet, cozy, and exactly what you need right now. Trust me.”

At the time, I hadn’t even realized the cottage was available. For years, I’d walked past it—the wraparound porch, the wide windows tucked behind a garden that always seemed to bloom brighter than anywhere else. As a kid, I used to press my nose against the fence, imagining myself living here. Tea on the porch swing, reading under the tree, tending a garden of my own—it had always felt like the kind of place where dreams could take root.

But now? The reality feels more like a joke at my expense. Could Max have known Jake would be here? That this house wasn’t quite mine to claim after all? I shake my head, trying to shove the thought aside. No way. Max wouldn’t set me up like that… would he?

The laugh that bubbles out of me is humorless. Yeah, right. Jake Preston and I don’t do peace. We do irritation, frustration, and the occasional silent standoff. If Max did have a hand in this, I’m going to kill him. And if Jake doesn’t stop smirking, I might just kill him first. One thing is clear: this house isn’t big enough for both of us, and peaceful cohabitation isn’t in the cards.