Page 11 of Your Place or Mine

I chuckled and tossed a towel at her. “Hey, I thought I was entertaining enough.”

“Well, my suitcase nearly impaled me, and the hero of Reckless River stepped in to save me. I say don’t tempt fate. You’re a good friend and all, but he’s…” She wiggled her brows.

I grinned and shook my head, eyeing her suitcase. “You packed more than I did, and I’m the one moving here.”

She smirked. “I can’t help it. I’m always prepared.”

The truth was, I didn’t have much to bring. I’d been renting a bedroom for the last five years, and what did I need? Most of my life fit into two suitcases and a tote bag. The rest, my mom’s belongings, sat boxed away in a small storage unit just outside of Seattle. I'd go through them when I was ready.

Which wasn’t anytime soon.

“Hey,” Melanie’s voice softened, cutting into my thoughts, “you okay?”

“Yeah. Totally.” I nodded, though my throat tightened a little. “Just thinking about my mom.”

She didn’t push. She just looked around the studio apartment with me, as if she knew the moment was sacred.

It wasn’t much, but it could be something.Mysomething. Maybe even my first project.

The apartment’s charm above the bakery screamed, “Hasn’t been touched since 1982.” The hardwood floors were warm in tone but worn bare in a dozen spots where old rugs had lived too long. A rust-colored loveseat sat under the front window, its cushions sunken and a little threadbare but soft enough to curl into after a long day.

A good thing to save for would be a nice sofa.

The kitchenette tucked into the corner was vintage, but it could also be read as outdated, with its pale yellow cabinets and laminate countertops edged in dull chrome. The fridge hummed like it had opinions. A small table with mismatched chairs sat under a crooked light fixture, and a dusty bookshelf leaned under the weight of old paperbacks, mostly romances and westerns with cracked spines from what I could see.

The bed wasn’t separated by anything but the illusion of space. A full-size platform mattress with a faded quilt and two saggy pillows sat off to the side, pretending it was its own room.

But it was the window that made it.

Tall and slightly streaked with age, it looked out over Main Street. From here, you could see everything from brick façades, the bakery’s awning below, and the twinkle lights strung above the café patio across the street. Reckless River moved at its own rhythm…slow, steady, content.

Cozy, yes. Livable, absolutely. But it needed love.

And a little paint. Or maybe a lot.

“I call the bed,” I said, tossing one of my suitcases onto the mattress and giving it a satisfying bounce.

Melanie raised an eyebrow from where she stood in front of the rust-colored loveseat, hands on her hips like she was assessing a crime scene.

“You meanthisis where I’m sleeping?”

“It has excellent lumbar support,” I said, nodding like I believed it. “And a scenic view of Main Street and that weird guy across the road who keeps trimming the same hedge.”

She squinted out the window. “Oh. Yeah. That guy’s either pruning or plotting. No in-between.”

“Welcome to Reckless River,” I said, grinning as I tossed her a faded throw blanket I’d found in the closet. “We have hedges, mystery, and vintage heating.”

Melanie flopped onto the couch and spread out with a dramatic sigh. “I feel like I’m staying in a charmingly haunted Airbnb.”

“I like to think of it as cozy with character.”

“It has character all right. At least three ghosts and one squirrel family’s worth.”

I chuckled. “You’ve heard the scratching up above, too?”

She nodded, and I rolled my eyes and handed her a pillow. “It will look better soon. You'll beg me for a visit once I get the floors shined up and new paint and furniture.”

“If you say so.” She smoothed the pillow under her head and gave me a side-eye. “Just make sure you remember this when I put in my formal complaint about the springs in my spleen.”

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