Page 2

CHAPTER 2

S tar shut the back door behind her and immediately dropped onto her butt, planting her face in her hands with a loud, defeated groan. “How in the world do I always manage to do the most mortifying things in front of that man?”

It was a mystery she doubted even the brightest minds of the century could solve. Yes, she was a klutz. That much was well-established. But it wasn’t just the standard clumsy level. Nope, the weirdest things in the universe happened to her. And somehow, lately, those spectacular, logic-defying mishaps always occurred in the presence of Ethan Wolf.

Ethan, with his muscles-on-top-of-muscles, his ridiculously tall, chiseled physique, and that damn strawberry-blond hair that looked like spun gold when the sun hit it just right. And those blue eyes—she swore they were a shade no human should possess. They made her lady parts tingle , and his easy smile, the one laced with kindness, was just unfair. Completely unfair. Like slathering extra frosting on an already decadent Ethan Wolf cake.

Wolf! Oh God, even his name made her giddy.

The man belonged on magazine covers. No—billboards! Every single one, across every major city, so the world could appreciate the visual blessing that was Ethan Wolf. But instead, he was here, her neighbor, witness to her most humiliating moments.

She let her head thunk against the wooden door behind her and exhaled sharply. Absolute mortification was nothing new to her, especially when Ethan was involved.

A cloud of chaos traveled with her wherever she went—it was her curse. If something could go wrong, it would. And somehow, the worst of it seemed to manifest in Ethan’s presence. Her father had coined the term the Star Curse , a family joke wrapped in loving exasperation. She’d learned to live with it. To adapt. But today had just been another glaring reminder that her life was a never-ending funniest home video reel. You know, the ones where the people do the stupidest things unintentionally? Yeah, welcome to her world.

With a sigh, Star pulled herself up and trudged through the house—her great-uncle Nico’s house—now her house. The gloomy weight of her thoughts settled over her as she moved through the space.

She’d inherited the Victorian six months ago, finally finding solid ground six years after the worst day of her life.

Graduation day. The day her parents were supposed to be there, cheering, celebrating her milestone. They’d never made it.

She’d searched the vast crowd, expecting to see them. But her father’s signature sharp whistle never cut through the noise. No beaming smiles. No proud hugs. Just an eerie, empty nothing. They weren’t there.

Worry had turned to fear. And then, back at her dorm, the knock had come. The highway patrol had found her. A semi-truck. A sleeping driver. A devastating head-on collision. Her parents were gone in an instant, along with the truck driver and a family of five in a minivan.

Everything after that was a blur—grief, funeral arrangements, and moving out of the dorms alone. And then, six years later, the news that she had a Great-Uncle Nico . A relative she’d never heard of but who’d somehow left her a house.

A house and a chunk of money to fix it.

Being her father’s daughter, she’d vowed to renovate it herself. He’d been a master carpenter, a man who built things with his hands and added an entire addition to her childhood home all by himself. Star had been his little assistant, hammering nails alongside him, covered in sawdust and pride.

So, she’d decided— I can do this .

But reality had other ideas.

The old Victorian looked stunning from the outside, a true slice of history, with ornate trim and charming bay windows. Sure, it needed paint and some TLC, but it was a faded, glorious exterior. But the inside? A complete disaster.

Her stomach had dropped when she’d stepped through the front door. Every. Single. Wall. Riddled with holes.

It was as if someone had taken a hammer and just … gone to war with the drywall. And not in a let’s-do-some-renovation kind of way. No, the holes were deliberate, a chaotic mess that tore through to the original shiplap behind them.

And that was just the beginning.

The plumbing? A disaster. The electrical? Let’s just say she was lucky the place hadn’t already burned down. Star had spent weeks cataloging everything wrong, breaking it down into lists, spreadsheets, and folders packed with research. Her mother had been a research fellow, a woman who could find an answer to anything, first in books, then online as technology evolved. Star had inherited that skill—she would learn if she didn’t know how to do something.

She had video tutorials, schematics, checklists, tool requirements, and a growing knowledge base that should have made the project easier. But there was a vast difference between knowing something in theory and actually doing it. Like replacing drywall without creating more chaotic, cartoon-level destruction. Or, say, managing to renovate a house without somehow making an absolute fool of herself in front of the hottest man alive. That, apparently, was still beyond her abilities.

The how-to videos she’d found hadn’t exactly covered how to repair the shiplap behind the damaged sheetrock.

Thankfully, the man at the hardware store had filled in the gaps. Kyle, the ever-helpful employee, had explained how to properly cut out the sheetrock, repair the shiplap behind it, and then reinstall and patch it to make everything look seamless. Yeah. That’s simple. Right? Ah … no. Star stared at her most recent patch attempt and sighed, shaking her head. She was missing a step. Or two. Or twelve.

It looked like someone had plastered a giant Band-Aid over the wall, except the Band-Aid was made of uneven drywall mud and despair. No amount of sanding or layering the goop she’d troweled over the patch had made it smooth. It just sat there, taunting her with its imperfections.

But she wouldn’t give up.Nope. She’d already stripped all the old varnish and stain off the hardwood floors upstairs and prepped them for refinishing. But she wasn’t about to touch those with a new stain until she got the walls fixed. Priorities.

She’d also replaced the old plumbing fixtures in two of the bathrooms, retiled the shower, and—because she was a stubborn, determined, possibly delusional woman—single-handedly replaced a bathtub in the master bathroom. The only problem? Finding the right fittings to connect her modern fixtures to the ancient plumbing.

Enter Kyle. Again. The hardware store employee had been a lifesaver in terms of expertise. He’d also been relentless in asking her out. You’d think he'd have gotten the message after dozens of polite yet firm declines.

He did not.

Kyle seemed to think it was some kind of charming back-and-forth game, but to Star, it wasn’t a game at all. It was annoying . And pointless.

Because her heart belonged to Ethan Wolf. Even if he were way out of her league. That didn’t stop her from dreaming about him. And, wow, did she have dreams about him. The kind that left her waking up flustered, overheated, and questioning every life choice that kept her single.

Shaking off those thoughts, she turned back toward the master bath. It was her biggest triumph yet. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, admiring her work. The new plumbing was solid. Every single fitting had been tested. No leaks. She’d spent weeks on this project, balancing renovations with her actual job—because, unfortunately, she still needed to pay her bills.

Even though she worked from home, she had office hours to maintain. Her small business specialized in medical dictation transcription, catering to doctors who refused to use automated voice recognition software. On top of that, she took freelance overflow work from court stenographers, particularly those based in New York, where caseloads were brutal.

The steady workload was a blessing, but it also meant she couldn’t devote every waking hour to fixing the house. With that in mind, she walked to the small apartment refrigerator she had brought from her last residence and grabbed a water bottle.

Her current predicament? The kitchen, or, actually, the wiring. The house’s ancient electrical system had made itself loud and clear when she’d plugged in the coffee maker and toaster at the same time—a decision she’d immediately regretted. The resulting snap, crackle, and pop had nearly sent her into cardiac arrest.

Since then, she’d strategically rationed electricity use like a general planning a battle. The small fridge sat on a dedicated circuit, with nothing else plugged in. The coffee maker? Exiled to another room. Hairdryer? Curling iron? Not a chance. She wasn’t about to overload the system and accidentally burn the place down.

Kyle had given her the names of three electricians, and she’d already lined up quotes. She had no doubt the entire house needed to be rewired, which was precisely why she was putting the patchwork projects on hold. She wanted outlets where there were none, and goodness only knew how many holes they’d cut into the walls to fix the wiring.

Instead, she’d decided to focus on stripping the downstairs floors and staircase. The original dark mahogany stain felt heavy, oppressive—like the house was still weighed down by ghosts of the past. She wanted warmth. Life. A fresh start. She’d chosen a lighter stain that would bring out the depth of the red oak floors while still honoring the home’s history.

But first, she needed more varnish stripper. And maybe a little courage. The buffer she’d invested in—one of her best purchases—was an absolute workhorse . Renting one would’ve cost her five times what she’d paid to own it outright.

But there was one small problem. Given the whole kitchen electrical debacle, she wasn’t sure if she should actually plug the thing in again. The buffer required a heavy draw on the system, and she had zero faith in the house’s wiring.

So, for now, she would concentrate on the manual work, scrubbing and scraping corners and edges where the buffer couldn’t reach, using pure elbow grease and determination.

Star went back to the master bedroom and changed her clothes before heading to the hardware store. The walk wasn’t far, and she needed the exercise. And maybe, just maybe , she’d find a way to stop humiliating herself in front of Ethan while she was at it. She did make an amazing sauce; cooking was her forte. She loved it, and when the kitchen was renovated, she’d have an incredible, modern refuge with all the latest appliances. Or, knowing her luck, she'd probably just add to the ever-growing collection of things that could go wrong. But that was the excitement of life, wasn’t it?