Page 1 of Forever Wild

CHAPTER 1

TRIXIE

By the time I pull into my hometown of Peach Springs, Georgia, porch lights are on and the sun’s about to become a memory. I’d planned on getting into town earlier, but everything that could go wrong with my angry girl move-out did. Starting with my asshole ex calling the fire department when I parked my car in the fire lane. Luckily, Savannah’s finest firefighters were very understanding of my predicament and took mercy on me. They even helped me haul my suitcases out of the apartment to speed up the process, which I very much appreciated. All of that still took time, though, and now I’m coasting into town on fumes in the dark.

Less than ideal.

I only hope that the keys Ms. Dottie mailed to me work and will unlock the door. If not, I might be sleeping in my car tonight.

Making the final turn down Main Street, I slow down and cruise until I spot the all-brick storefront with the white awning. Even in the dusky light, I recognize the place from the online photo. I pull into a spot directly in front of the building and throw the car into park, heaving a sigh of relief.

I made it. I’m exhausted, bone-tired from packing and climbing up and down my old apartment stairs four thousand times, but I did it.

Broke up with that no-good cheater Jett, moved out, made a change.

Good on me.

Sure, I’m back in my tiny hometown. The same place I always swore I’d get away from.

Sure, I’m in my thirties and single, no kids, no pets, no houseplants.

Sure, I don’t have a rock-solid career going just yet.

But all of that’s about to change with this move.

Tomorrow, I start the next chapter of my new life, the next big adventure. I’m going to renovate the hell out of this place and open the best vintage retail shop Peach Springs has ever seen.

Yeah, it’s on like Donkey Kong, starting tomorrow.

Tonight, though, I have to find the keys to my new apartment, unpack, and take a nice, hot shower.

Climbing out of the car, I take a deep breath of the cool evening air. I walk over to the window and press my face to the glass, peering inside. The space is mostly empty, a few random pieces of furniture covered with white sheets, abandoned. Ms. Dottie told me over the phone that their last tenant cleared out over two years ago and the building’s been sitting vacant ever since. She was thrilled when I messaged her about leasing the space for my shop. She even threw the apartment above the store in with my monthly rent, which is fantastic for me. I can live and work in the space—and not have to worry about finding another rental. Peach Springs isn’t exactly bursting with rental properties.

I fish the manila envelope Ms. Dottie mailed me out of my purse and fiddle with the brass knob. The first key doesn’t fit in the lock.

Super.

I try the second key and it slides right in.

Hallelujah.

Turning the knob, I push inside, the door creaking and echoing loudly off the bare walls. Dust tickles my nose and I immediately sneeze, once, twice. The room’s musty, but nothing a good bleach scrub down won’t fix.

I twirl around in a circle, taking it all in. The high ceiling, with long, dark wooden beams spanning the entire room, the floor covered with old-school mint green linoleum. Not my jam and that will definitely need replacing. The walls are a faded canary yellow, apart from the front display window. A fresh coat of paint and the vibe will be totally different. Yes, the space has tons of potential and I can’t wait to get started on the reno.

At the back of the shop is another door. I’m betting it leads to the apartment. Grabbing my suitcase, I shuffle over and jam the second key into the lock. The door kicks open and I lug my bag up the narrow staircase, clutching onto the thin metal railing with my free hand. At the top of the landing is another door and I use the same key to gain entry.

The apartment’s in better shape than the downstairs shop, although it still doesn’t smell all that great either. At least it’s not covered in dust. There’s a bed off to the left, along with a small dresser. What I assume to be the bathroom door is a few steps from the bed. The right side of the room houses a kitchenette, complete with a teal refrigerator, a tiny sink, a two-burner stove, and a microwave that takes up the entire counter. Next to the kitchenette’s a table for two sitting directly beneath a window facing Main Street. The only other piece of furniture in the room is a beat-up ancient chintz sofa and one of the oldest televisions I’ve seen in years, which may or may not be functional.

Not the greatest digs ever, but it works.

Dropping my luggage with a thud, I hustle to the bathroom, already anticipating a long, hot shower. I push the door open and warm, humid steam billows out, heating my face.

“Ohmygod!” My hand flies to my mouth as I stare at the partially fogged glass shower door. A very naked, stupidly gorgeous man stands beneath the spray, water streaming over his broad shoulders, the taut line of his lats, trickling all the way down to his impossibly tight, pale ass.

An ass I have no business gaping at and absolutely zero interest in seeing bare, let alone touching. And I have never—well, hardly ever—pictured this particular man in the buff.

Absolutely not.

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