Page 1 of The Roommate Lie

Chapter One

CHARLIE

There are tons of ways to greet someone new, and only a few of them are proven to inspire violence.

Lucky me.

My shift is almost over when the Number 5 shuttle bus rolls in from Denver. Ponderosa Falls is the final stop, but I barely notice as the last few passengers file out.This is what I get for sharing a ticket counter with my older brother.

Carl is as distracting as it gets. He accidentally fell in love with his best friend last Christmas—after they got married—and he’s telling me about a surprise he has planned for her birthday when someone approaches the ticket counter and clears their throat. Very politely. Almost too politely.

It’s the nicest, sweetest throat clear I’ve ever heard, a realI hate to bother yousituation. Which instantly makes me feel guilty. Turning around, I try to look helpful, like a model employee. Then I set the world on fire…accidentally.

The woman at the counter is probably my age, early twenties, and she looks surprisingly cheerful for someone who’s been on a mountain shuttle bus for hours. All frecklesand sunshine and braided red hair that’s as bright as a copper penny.

How can I help you?

That’s what I should say. Orhelloorwhat can I do for you today?Instead, something sparks in my brain, a vague movie memory I didn’t know I’d held on to. The curse of growing up with an older sister.

“Hey, Carrots. Can we help you with something?”

Carrots?

Did I just call a redheaded strangerCarrots?

I have no idea how it happened, how my brain knew better but did it anyway. Except that’s the Charlie Roscoe special, and I probably should’ve seen this coming.

It doesn’t matter that I said it politely, that I meant well. I utter that fateful word, and my older brother gasps. Thanks to our sister, we’ve seen that movie a hundred times—we know how this part ends.

I’ve committed the ultimate ginger sin. The woman in front of us is about to go fullAnne of Green Gables, and I brace for impact. For the blunt force trauma I deserve for calling any womanCarrots.

But she’s smiling.

I refer to her as a root vegetable, and her lips tilt upward. Even when she tries to fight it, pressing her mouth into a grim line, I can tell she isn’t upset. Which is all the encouragement I need.

“Aren’t people in small towns supposed to be nicer?” she teases, and her voice is just a little bit soft, a little bit shy—the perfect amount.

“Probably. Guess this is your unlucky day.”

I keep my voice light, but I’m not kidding. In Ponderosa Falls, I’m basically a walking bad omen, the last person you’dever want to meet straight off the shuttle bus. And that irony is not lost on my current employer.

The woman at the counter gives me a careful once-over like she’s thinking the same thing. As if she can already tell I’m the worst thing about this cute small town. Then she shakes her head.

“Do you always prey on unsuspecting redheads at the bus station? How very Gilbert Blythe of you.”

Did she just compare me to Gilbert Blythe?Maybe I’m not anAnne of Green Gablesexpert, but I’m pretty sure that’s a compliment. He was Anne’s nemesis turned friend turned soulmate, and I’m two seconds away from blushing like a ginger orphan in a Canadian literary masterpiece.

So I ruin it.

I can’t help myself.

It’s the kind smile she’s giving me that does me in. This stranger is being way too nice, and she’s a lot sweeter than I’m used to. Making sure she knows I’m bad news suddenly feels important, like I’m saving her from something, and I guess I am—me.

Or maybe I’m not doing her any favors. Maybe old habits just die hard.

Either way, I don’t think about what happens next. She gives me that friendly tourist smile, and I’m all instinct. Leaning closer, I rest my forearms on the ticket counter and fix my gaze on hers. A faint blush colors her cheeks as my smile shifts into something a little more intentional. A little more dangerous.

“How Gilbert Blythe of me? Are you hitting on me, Carrots?”

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