Page 10 of The Roommate Remodel

Vale circles the living room, checking out the beautiful crown molding. “I heard she runs the team like a dictator.”

I shoot Vale a look to keep his voice down. “Dictator or not, she’s our new boss.”

“Sloan seems nice.” Vale picks up a teacup from the buffet and studies it. We never had fine china growing up with a single mom, and Vale treats it like a curiosity from an antique shop.

I pluck the cup from his hand and gingerly set it back in the saucer. “Don’t get any ideas about our new housemates. That only complicates things.”

“Complicates,how?” He turns to me with a smile that tells me he knowsexactlyhow.

“Remember how things turned out with Camille?” I arch an eyebrow. Before I even broke things off, she was cheating on me with Felipe. It’s part of the reason he hates me so much. “We’re here to play hockey. Notfraternizewith the locals.”

Sloan returns with a pitcher of orange juice and a plate of muffins. “I hope you’re not allergic to nuts.” She sets down the freshly baked banana muffins on the buffet. When Vale sees them, his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

“I’m not allergic toanything.” Vale beelines toward the muffin plate. “Do you mind?” He’s already reaching for the muffin plate before she answers.

She smiles. “Please do. We pride ourselves on our Southern hospitality. Lucian didn’t mention where you’re from.”

“Vermont,” I reply, noticing that Vale takes not one, buttwomuffins. I elbow him in the side, but he ignores me as he consumes half the muffin in one bite.

“Did you play for Springfield?” she asks with wide eyes.

I turn toward her. “You know the team?”

“Only from the website,” she admits.

“Do you go to the local games?” I ask.

“Used to,” she says, then looks at the floor. “I’m hoping my sister can snag some tickets this season.”

Something crashes to the floor upstairs, and Sloan gives us an apologetic look. “I’ll be right back.”

She hurries upstairs while Vale takes the last bite of his muffin and closes his eyes like he’s in banana muffin heaven.

I glance around the room looking for family pictures, but don’t see any. Sloan isn’t old enough for these antiques, but I’m guessing they belonged to somebody’s grandma.

Vale picks up the teacup again. “Am I supposed to use this for the orange juice? I don’t even know how to hold something so dainty.” He awkwardly tries to curl his pinky in the air like an English gentleman, but he’s no Mr. Darcy. His thick fingers don’t fit in the ring, and he nearly drops the cup trying to force one in.

“Would you put that down before you break it?” I shake my head. “I’ll look in the kitchen for two glasses.” I head across the hall to a sunny yellow kitchen lined with cupboards from another era. The decor hasn’t been updated in years, but the room has that grandmotherly smell of fresh bread and cinnamon still hanging in the air.

As I search through cupboards, I spot a pink apron hanging inside the pantry door. Curious, I push open the door wider and take the apron off the hook. A giant pair of red lips adorn the front with the wordsKiss the Cook.Apparently, Granny likesmore thanjust cooking.

Thinking this would be hilarious to show to Vale, I loop the apron around my neck and secure the ties behind my back. I look ridiculous, but it’ll be worth it to see Vale’s face before Sloan gets back.

Just as I wheel around, a woman walks into the kitchen, her eyes landing on my apron first.

I know that face.

“What are you...?” Her voice halts when her eyes reach my face. The horror in her gaze hits me like a thud in my chest, the weight of embarrassment nearly knocking me backward.

I know those eyes...and that mouth. The same lips that gave me amelt-your-mouth-offkiss in the back hall of Mia’s wedding reception. The flush of heat on my neck is nearly instantaneous.

I forget the Pepto-pink apron I’m wearing and manage a strangled sound resembling a choking animal. “Jazlyn?”

For what’s probably only a few seconds, she stares at me, like she’s just seen the Ghost of Christmas Future announcing her imminent death. Except that ghost isme, dressed in an unfortunateKiss the Cookapron with giant lips inconveniently placed at my belt line.

And she’s not the one who’s about to die.I am.From embarrassment.

THREE

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