Page 23 of Enemies in Paradise

I admit I’ve left empty cans in the shop, but there’s not one crumb of food anywhere in the studio. Hockey gear, yes. Food. No way. And I check every door, window, and possible entry point after most practices. If I find a spot that needs to be sealed or blocked off, I do it, especially in the studio. I don’t want mice in the living space any more than I want them in my Mustang. Mice are small, and kind of cute, but they carry a lot of germs with them.

Except, no matter how hard I try to keep the shop clean, field mice flood the building every winter, looking for somewhere warm to live. That’s why I’ve got traps everywhere, and why they have to be emptied often.

That’s also why I won’t be calling Cliff—the exterminator—any time soon. The traps I use are humane. The ones he uses aren’t.

Maybe I shouldn’t care about that, but I do. All the mice want is some food and a warm place to sleep, both of which are hard to find here in the winter. Once houses replace the fields, the mice will have an even harder time surviving. I hate the thought of that.

Georgia and Evie help Grandpa to the door, but he turns around before leaving. “Have Cliff send me the bill, but call him today. Get him out there ASAP.”

I nod, even though I have no intention of calling Cliff. But a nod feels further from a lie than ayes, sir.And, the fact is, I’ll have to get Cliff to take care of the mice, but I’ll put off the mice reaping for as long as I can.

Georgia and Evie help Grandpa down the stairs. I watch them as they go, an idea forming as they get to the last step, then walk toward the house.

If I get rid of my traps before Cassie moves in, there won’t be anything keeping the mice away. No traps mean plenty of miceto burrow into all the shop and studio’s nooks. The problem may get so bad that Cassie may have to find a different building to buy for her bookstore—and there are other options. Because who wants to buy a rodent-infested property?

Maybe I’m thinking too big, but the mouse problem could get so bad that the city will be forced to tear down the building. They’ll have no other option besides turning it into the green space it should be. A green space with plenty of spots for displaced mice to build new burrows.

Obviously, that’s the best-case dream scenario. But, at the very least, letting a little mouse problem become a big mouse problem will buy me some time to convince the city to buy the land instead of letting developers get it. It’s a long shot, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Or mice-ures, in this case.

I smile at my joke.

And does thinking of Cassie taken down by an army of mice make my smile grow bigger? Possibly.

But it’s followed quickly by the thought that she might get desperate enough to ask for my help to get rid of them.

That makes me want to smile more, no matter how hard I fight the urge.

Chapter 7

Cassie

One week after gettingnotice I’ve been put on leave, I follow Georgia to the back of the shop, wheeling my suitcase behind me. The studio is my new home—at least for the next three weeks as we figure out minor details, like a small business loan and my entire life.

As we round the corner of the building, a cat appears, meowing loudly. I bend down, intending to pet it and check for a collar, but Georgia stops me.

“It’s a barn cat. People keep them around to catch mice, not as pets.” Then she shoos the cat away.

“Oh. Too bad. You know how I feel about cats. If everything works out, maybe I’ll get an indoor one to celebrate. He could be a fixture at the bookstore.” One more reason to hope I can buy the shop.

I always had a cat growing up, and I’ve wanted one for a long time, but Georgia didn’t, so I respected that. But now that we’re not roomies anymore, if I end up in Paradise with my own place, I think it’s time.

But Georgia shakes her head. “An outdoor cat is a good idea to keep mice away, but you’d lose customers who don’t like cats or who are allergic. Bear and Zach won’t go near them.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, although the idea of keeping Bear away is tempting,” I say as we stop in front of the door.

“You also don’t want to do that. He’ll be your best customer.”

I assume she means because he likes to read, but before I can ask, she opens the door to reveal the studio, and I’m too shocked to say anything else.

I have little to move into the studio since I only packed to be here for one week, not four. But when I see the size of the space, I worry I over-packed. With one sweep of the room, I take in every square inch.

“What do you think?” Georgia says as I wheel my suitcase inside. “Cute, isn’t it?”

I take another look around before answering, hoping to find the “cute” she’s seeing.

The floor is okay. At first glance, I think it’s wood, but it’s actually that vinyl stuff that looks like wood. So no carpet to vacuum, but also no rugs. I’ll need a couple of those.

At the far end of the room, there’s a daybed that serves as both bed and couch, a rolling rack for a closet, a cheap, MDF dresser with a TV on the wall above it, and a screen to divide half the space from the kitchen where Georgia and I stand. The stove is ancient; the smallest I’ve ever seen. There’s no dishwasher, and the table is only big enough for two people, once it’s pulled away from the wall and the leaf extended.

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