Page 16 of Hometown Touchdown
Just me, a couch, Priscilla, and possibly waffles.
But now? Now there's...this.
Then the singing starts, if you can even call it that. It’s more like a squirrel choking on helium. Desperate, off-key, and painful. I wince as whoever’s out there takes a stab at the big note in “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” She doesn’t stick the landing. Not even close.
Sophie mentioned a new tenant moved in last weekend. I didn’t ask questions. As long as rent shows up on time and no one sets the place on fire, I don’t care.
But this is pushing it.
Somewhere outside, a moving truck door slams shut, the metallic clang slicing through the chorus. I roll onto my side and grab the extra pillow beside me, pressing it hard over my head like a man bracing for a hurricane made of terrible karaoke and pounding bass. It’s useless. The pillow might as well be made of tissue paper.
The movers are gone now, but the singing gets louder. Like she’s performing for her houseplants and they demanded an encore. I groan and throw the pillow aside, staring up at the ceiling.
I don’t know who this woman is, but she’s already ruining my life.
Britney Spears starts next.
That’s it. Game over.
I throw back the covers and plant my feet on the floor. “Nope. Not doing this.”
Still half-asleep and entirely annoyed, I pull on the first T-shirt and pair of sleep pants I find. No shoes. No plan. Just pure, caffeine-deprived rage. Priscilla trots after me like she’s looking forward to the confrontation. Glad one of us is.
The cold sting of the driveway under my bare feet only makes my mood worse.
I march across the short stretch of concrete and knock on the door. No answer. I knock again—louder this time. Priscilla huffsbeside me like she’s just as done. The music cuts mid-chorus. A second later, I hear the click of the lock.
Then the door swings open.
“Knox? What the hell are you doing here?”
Brynn.
Of course it’s her.
Because God forbid I go three days without running into my ex. Small town, sure, but apparently not small enough to give me a damn heads-up that she’d be hanging out next door.
She stands there blinking at me, blonde hair twisted up, pink leggings hugging her curves, and a cropped white T-shirt that would’ve broken the dress code in high school. Her cheeks are flushed. Her mouth is parted likeI’mthe one disruptingherpeaceful morning.
Just like that, my headache triples.
“I’m here to ask my new tenant to keep their music at a reasonable volume,” I say, scanning the room behind her. “Are they home?”
Her eyes drop to Priscilla and light up like it’s Christmas. “Who is this? Oh, you’re so cute!”
Priscilla immediately betrays me, licking Brynn’s hand like she’s met her soulmate.
“This is Priscilla,” I grit out. “Now, as I was saying—the tenant?”
“Iamthe tenant.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
She crosses her arms. “Wait, what do you meanyourtenant?”
“I own these duplexes, Brynn.”
She stares. “My lease says Goodton Properties.”
